The Crystal Ball that Ron Really Hated
by vanilla-chk
Summary: Bill gives Ron a crystal ball for his birthday that sees the present instead of the future. Ginny steals it and see Harry showering, amongst other things. May turn into parody or soap-opera, I'm not sure yet. READ, REVIEW! You know you're just aching to!
1. Birthday Presents!

Ron clumsily shoved a pair of batteries into the CD player that his father had gotten him for his birthday. Once he had them properly inserted, he flipped the appliance over so that it faced him and began pressing random buttons.  
  
"Dad, how does this work?" On accident, Ron pressed the 'play' button. The screen began flashing the words "no disk". "What does that mean?" cried Ron, dropping the CD player onto the carpet in fright. "What did I just do?"  
  
Arthur Weasley sat down next to him and inspected the CD player as if he knew what he was doing. "Erm...that means that there's no disk in there."  
  
Ginny snorted sarcastically and squatted next to her father and her brother. "Obviously, Dad. Put a CD in it and then press 'play'. It'll start playing music." Ron and Mr. Weasley gazed at Ginny in amazement. "Here, put in one of mine." Ginny handed Ron a disk labeled, "The White Stripes".  
  
Cautiously, Ron placed the disk in his birthday gift and pressed 'play'. Rock music began blasting out of the headphones. "How'd you know that?"  
  
Ginny shrugged. "A lot of my friends grew up with Muggles. What can I say?" Just then, violent green flames sprung up in the Weasley fireplace, and Bill tumbled out onto the carpet. Breathing heavily, he sprung to his feet and produced a square, cardboard box from behind his back.  
  
"Happy birthday, Ronniekins!" Bill cheerily presented the box to Ron, who ripped it from his hands greedily and tore off the packing tape. Sliding both hands inside, he produced a large crystal orb.  
  
"Oh, no! You didn't get me a crystal ball, did you? You know how I feel about Divination!" Ron peered into the misty glass with disgust and began to whirl it about in his hands.  
  
"No, I did not! Next time, why don't you ask questions before you go on insulting my gift!" Bill wrenched the ball from Ron's grip and cradled it gently, like one would carry a baby. "It is most definitely not used for seeing the future, like a regular crystal ball. It is used to see the present. Very handy for a curious youngster such as yourself," said Bill, playfully ruffling his younger brother's messy red hair.  
  
"Who wants to see what's going on in the present?" asked Ginny, standing up to get a better look at the ball. Bill placed a large hand on her forehead and pushed her onto the ground.  
  
"You guys don't get it," said Bill, "You can see what's going on at other places. For example, if you want to find out whether or not your girlfriend is cheating on you, you can pull up her image in the crystal ball and see what she's up to."  
  
Molly Weasley walked into the living room, where the four members of her family were talking. "Who's cheating on who? What's going on?"  
  
"Nobody's cheating on anybody, Mum," answered Ron with a roll of his eyes. "Bill, how do I see what Hermione's doing?"  
  
Ginny grinned and leaned towards Ron. "Oo! Why, are you and Hermione going out now?"  
  
"No, we're not!" Like Bill, Ron placed a heavy hand on Ginny's forehead and pushed her onto the floor. "Get away from me!"  
  
"Well," began Bill, kneeling next to Ron, Ginny, and Arthur on the living room floor, "First you've got to rub the ball a bit, just to get it warmed up, I suppose. Then, you think really hard about the person you're trying to find. Then, you say their name to the ball and an image of that person appears in it."  
  
Ron took the ball from Bill and sprawled out on the floor, setting the ball in front of him and gazing deeply into it. "Hermione Granger."  
  
A picture of a brown-haired girl sitting at her desk appeared in the crystal orb. She sipped from a cup, then set it down onto her desk and opened up what appeared to be a letter. Her eyes scanned the page and she began to laugh. Then, she folded the letter up and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from a drawer in the desk. She began to write upon the paper, and smiled as she wrote.  
  
"I wonder who she's writing to. Ron, have you sent her any letters recently?" asked Ginny, who was laying on the carpet next to her brother.  
  
Ron shook his head in response, and his concentration broke, causing the image to quickly dissipate into mist. He stood up and stretched. "No, no I haven't. The letter's probably from Harry."  
  
"Or Viktor," said Bill with a devilish smirk. "Maybe she's been getting letters from him."  
  
"No she's not!" cried Ron, fuming with anger, "And even if she was, I wouldn't care! I don't like her! Who told you that I liked her?" He shoved the orb into Ginny's hands and ran furiously upstairs.  
  
The rest of his family members watched in amazement as he dashed down the hall into his room, slamming the door.  
  
"That kid's got vengeance," said Bill, walking into the kitchen. "Mum, I'm hungry! What did you make for dinner?" Molly left the room to go feed her son, and Arthur followed more out of boredom than anything else.  
  
Now Ginny was perfectly alone with the ball. She knew exactly who she wanted to see. Protectively clutching it to her chest, she dashed upstairs and quietly slipped into her room. She softly closed the door, and slinked over to her bed. Lying on her stomach, she rubbed the ball gently and thought happily about Harry. "Harry Potter," she whispered to the ball.  
  
An image of a teenage boy sitting on the bathroom floor appeared in the ball. He was hugging his knees, and hid his face in his folded arms. His back was shaking. Slowly, his slender frame collapsed onto the tile floor. His hands dropped open, and they were dripping with blood. The black-haired boy's back shook harder and he curled onto his side.  
  
"Bill, can I have my ball back?" came Ron's muffled shout from just outside of Ginny's door. Ginny's concentration broke, and the picture of Harry dissolved into mist. She blushed as if she were doing something illicit, and quickly shoved the precious ball under her bed.  
  
"I don't have it! I think I put it on the couch or something," replied Bill from somewhere downstairs. Ginny began to hyperventilate with the fear of being caught, and she tore a book off her nightstand and began to read as if that was what she had been doing the entire time. Footsteps thudded downstairs. "Bill, it's not here!" Ginny paled and continued to pretend to read. "Maybe Ginny took it then, go ask her." Ron's footfalls grew louder as he arrived back upstairs, and he knocked on Ginny's door.  
  
"What?" called Ginny innocently.  
  
"Do you have my crystal ball?"  
  
"No, no I don't!" she lied. Under different circumstances she would have given it back to him, but after what she just saw she was very curious as to what was going on with her love.  
  
"What? Then where is it?" demanded Ron to nobody in particular. He left the hallway and Ginny could hear him charge downstairs to look for his birthday gift. Immediately, Ginny retrieved the ball from under her bed and brought the picture of Harry back into the crystal.  
  
The boy had stripped off his clothes and was now turning on the shower. He stepped inside and streams of blood washed off his porcelain skin, leaving no stain. He slumped against the shower wall and was very still for several minutes. Then he bent over, picked up a bottle of shampoo, and lathered it lazily into his hair. Seconds later he rinsed out the bubbles, turned off the shower and grabbed a towel hanging over the door. Slowly drying off his body, he tied the towel around his waist and left the room. He trudged down a dark hallway and entered a room. Closing the door, he dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of clean boxers. He retrieved a gray t-shirt from his bureau and slipped it over his head. Next, he lifted a pair of plaid pajama pants off of his bed and pulled them on.  
  
"Ginny, are you sure you don't have it? Because I can't find it anywhere downstairs." Once again, Ron's voice had broken her intense concentration. Harry disappeared and the ball was cloudy.  
  
"Oh! I just realized, I absentmindedly took it with me upstairs! Here it is on my desk," lied Ginny.  
  
"I was freaking out looking for it. I can't believe you've had it this whole time." Ginny opened the door and handed the ball to Ron, who was standing outside in the hallway. "Thanks," he muttered before ushering the orb to his room. Ginny stood against the door and considered what she had just seen. What happened to Harry that made him bleed like that?  
  
*** Chapter two coming soon =) 


	2. What Ginny Didn't See

Harry picked up a heavy wrench from his old toolbox and slid back under his Aunt's car. Wiping a black, motor oil-stained hand across his sweaty forehead, he began to tighten a loose bolt. Suddenly, from somewhere near the door leading back into the house, heavy footsteps slowly trod towards him. Thinking quickly, Harry slid out from under the sedan just as Dudley hurled his immense frame onto the hood of the car. Metal squealed against the cement floor of the garage, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat when he realized that he would have been split in two. He leapt to his feet immediately and stared agape at his cousin, who shoved himself off of the car and scowled at his missed target.  
  
"Why'd you have to move? 'T would've been smashing if I'd gotten you," grumbled Dudley, brushing off his school sweatshirt.  
  
Harry was still shocked. Dudley had beaten him to the brink of unconsciousness before, but he had never done anything that might have killed him. "If I hadn't moved, I could've been killed!" he cried, staring at Dudley in alarm.  
  
The fat boy picked his ear absentmindedly; either he didn't understand what Harry was saying, or he simply didn't care. "Put a shirt on, there are no girls here to impress," grunted Dudley, seeing that Harry was only wearing a pair of baggy pants and loads of black grease.  
  
Harry glanced down once at his scanty attire and immediately brushed the matter from his mind. "Whatever, just don't try and kill me again, alright?"  
  
Dudley laughed raucously and kicked the front bumper of his mother's car. "Why, what are you going to do about it? We all know that you can't use magic outside of your freaky school." Harry said nothing in retort; he wished that Dumbledore had never sent those letters informing every student's family of the no-magic policy. After several mishaps involving muggles and the Finnigan family, the school administration felt it necessary to make sure that every magical household fully understood the reciprocations of juvenile magic. Seeing that Harry was stoically silent, Dudley began to slowly approach him. "Well? Are you just going to stand there?"  
  
"No," replied Harry icily, shooting his cousin a deadly glare, "I don't need to use magic."  
  
By now Dudley was about an inch from Harry's face, and his putrid breath caused poor Harry to grimace in disgust. "Aw, what's making your dainty little princess nose wrinkle up like that? Do I scare wee wittle Hawwy?"  
  
"No, your breath smells horrible," said Harry, repulsing himself from the stench, "No wonder you've never had a girlfriend, who would want to put their tongue into that?" Red-faced and enraged, Dudley raised a blubbery fist to punch Harry, but the wizard caught his fist mid-swing and gripped it in a dead halt. "Are you sure you want to do that?"  
  
Dudley paused and glanced apprehensively at the young man in front of him, and emerald eyes glittered back menacingly. Harry had definitely grown up since his schoolyard beatings as a child; the ungodly busy schedule of Quidditch practices and his brutal labor around the Dursley's house had left him with a substantial physique. Now, his well-earned and motor oil- streaked muscles flexed against Dudley's still-raised fist, he was not a figure that Dudley would normally antagonize. However, the piggish boy wanted to retain his status as dominant child of the household, and did not back down. "Come on, you dirty orphan, what are you waiting for?"  
  
A powerful blow to his oversized stomach sent Dudley reeling backwards, and a second white-knuckled fist to his jaw caused him to fall to the ground in agony. He began rolling back and forth on the dirty cement, shrieking and moaning for his Mum. Crashing footsteps became apparent in the house, and with a gust of air Vernon and Petunia, Harry's aunt and uncle, violently swung open the door to the garage. "My baby!" wailed Petunia, falling to her knees beside what looked like a beached whale and desperately trying to soothe him. However, it was not the devastated mother that Harry was worried about, it was the incensed father. Vernon stood in the doorway leading to the house like a mad elephant, his barrel-chested frame heaving in and out with anger.  
  
"How dare you...what did you do to my son? WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?" Vernon strode quickly towards Harry and pinned him by the neck against a large, standing tool-chest. His huge hand began to squeeze on the boy's throat, and instinctively Harry kicked his Uncle as hard as he could in the crotch. While Vernon doubled over, howling in pain, Harry sprinted out of the garage and into the house.  
  
He had made it as far as the upstairs hallway when Vernon caught up to him. Harry was just in front of the window beside the bathroom door when he felt a powerful tug on the back of his pants-- Vernon grabbed a handful of belt-loops and yanked him to the ground. Seething with pure rage, he pounded a fist into Harry's chest and heard several loud cracking noises, causing the boy to scream in agony. "Never, ever harm my son! I keep you under my roof, clothe you, feed you, and this is how you repay me? BY BRUTALLY ATTACKING MY SON AND MYSELF?" Harry couldn't answer. He was wheezing and gasping desperately for air, and coughing up spots of blood; surely his Uncle broke several of his ribs. "WELL? Not going to answer me? Not going to respect your elders?" Out of all the pain he was feeling, Harry pulled a storm of anger from deep inside of his body and pushed Vernon as hard as he could. The huge man tumbled back, surprised by his young nephew's strength. Harry stood up, clutching his bruised chest, and glowered down at Vernon. "You can't treat me like this anymore!" Vernon stood up, red-faced and mustache bristling with anger. "How dare you speak back to your Uncle!" Before Harry, in his weakened state, could protest, Vernon grabbed the boy's face and smacked the back of his head against the window behind him, consequently shattering it. Jagged shards of glass rained down upon Harry, excruciatingly slicing open his once perfect skin in hundreds of places. Blood drained miserably from the wounds upon his bare chest and arms, and he fell to his knees in anguish and pure physical pain. Harry let out one hoarse cry of emotion before Vernon picked him up and threw him into the bathroom. "You got your filthy blood all over my nice white carpet!"  
  
The door slammed and Harry was left as a broken, bloody mess on the tile floor. He leaned against the wall and coughed bitterly into his knees, oblivious to the fact that Ginny Weasley was watching him from miles away through a crystal ball. Slowly his mind fell into dark recesses of pain and hate, and he quietly collapsed onto the soft pink rug beside the toilet. 


	3. Can Harry Come Over?

Ginny eased herself into her chair at the breakfast table, and poured herself a cup of milk. Her thoughts hadn't left Harry since she had seen that strange image in her brother's crystal ball, and she was hoping that Ron would leave the house sometime that day so she could steal another glance at it. Fred and George had come that morning through the fireplace at just about the same time that Bill left, and now they were sitting next to her, discussing new plans for their shop.  
  
"What kind of a name is Paradise Punchers? That's a horrible suggestion, George," said Fred, ripping a chunk off his toast and shoving it into his mouth.  
  
"It makes sense!" protested George, "See, they're "paradise" because at first they taste so good, but then they're "punchers" because suddenly the candy goes mad and starts beating up your teeth!"  
  
Molly walked up behind where the two young men were sitting and spooned hot porridge into their bowls. "I don't think you should be marketing anything that would cause children serious dental problems. Why don't you make some nice candy, for once?"  
  
At that time Ron trudged sleepily into the kitchen, bare feet slapping against the tile floor. He dropped into a chair and laid his head down upon the table. "Feed me," he moaned, stretching his arms in the air like a feline. Fred reached across the table and slapped him across the back of his head, causing Ron to jump up in his seat with a start.  
  
"Wake up, bloody git," snapped Fred, settling back down in his seat, "You're going to make me lose what little breakfast I've eaten." Ron glared at his brother and stabbed a spoon into the porridge that had just appeared in front of him.  
  
"Mum, can Harry come visit again this summer?" asked Ron, minutes later. Ginny looked up, intrigued.  
  
Molly sat down at the table across from Ginny. "I don't see why not. Why don't you write him an owl after breakfast?" Ron smiled and continued eating. Ginny stared wide-eyed at her the food in front of her, contemplating the effects of what a visit from Harry would entail. Would he explain why he was so bloody yesterday afternoon? Would he even mention it?  
  
Hours later, Ron and his two visiting brothers were outside playing a simple form of Quidditch. Arthur Weasley was working at the Ministry, and Molly Weasley was at a neighbor's house. Ginny was left deliciously alone. The first chance she got, she ran into Ron's room and searched relentlessly for his last birthday gift. After tearing through his drawers and shelves, she finally found it under a pile of dirty clothes on his floor. Throwing herself on Ron's bed, she quickly rubbed the crystal orb and whispered Harry's name to it.  
  
A dark-haired young man was holding an old shirt up inside a small, lonely room. He snipped an edge of the thin fabric with a small razor, then began tearing the shirt into long strips. Once he had finished that, he wrapped the strips tightly around his bare, bruised chest, wincing as he did so. He secured the end of the last strip with a small piece of clear tape, then sat dejectedly on his bed and hid his face in a pair of nervously shaking hands.  
  
"Ginny! What are you doing in my room?"  
  
She gasped and Harry disappeared. Ginny looked up guiltily at Ron, who was standing in the doorway looking rather shocked. "I...erm...," trailed Ginny.  
  
"Were you spying on Harry? That's so gross!" he exclaimed, snatching the ball from Ginny's hands and staring at her, horrified.  
  
"You don't understand!" she defended, "He was hurt, and I was worried!"  
  
Ron's face fell. "What do you mean, hurt? Was he cutting himself again?"  
  
"What? No...yesterday, when I first saw him in the ball, he was all messed up and bloody, and just now I saw him wrapping homemade bandages around his chest. I couldn't help being curious, Ron...he looked so sad." Ginny obligingly handed the ball to her brother, and with a knitted brow he said Harry's name to it.  
  
"Oh my God," whispered Ron, gazing at the picture in the glass, "I...I think he's crying...but he never cries..." Immediately Ron snapped out of his daze, tossed the ball onto his bed next to Ginny, and began hastily scribbling a letter to his friend.  
  
Harry,  
  
Come over. Please, if we need to kidnap you again we will, I just really feel like you should live with us. I can't explain why, but right now, I mean THIS MINUTE my brothers and I can break into your room and steal you-- if you want. But please want.  
  
Ron  
  
"Oy, little bugger!" called Ron to Pigwidgeon, who was banging about restlessly in his cage. "Let me tie this letter to your foot." As soon as the letter was secure, he threw Pig out the window like a baseball and watched him disappear into the sun. Ginny looked up at Ron.  
  
"Get out, Ginny," he snapped motioning towards the door.  
  
"What?" She stood up, confused by her brother's sudden change of temperament.  
  
"Just leave! Get out of my room!" Ron closed his eyes and turned his back to her.  
  
Slightly put off, Ginny walked quietly out of his room and softly closed the door. She padded down the carpeted hallway and entered her own sanctuary from the family, sitting on the floor and pulling her diary from between her mattress and her bed-frame. With a frown she detailed her thoughts about Harry and everything that had happened in the past few days. She couldn't wait until Harry wrote back to Ron; not that her brother would actually let her read the letter, but as long as Harry was at her house she wouldn't have to be so preoccupied about his well-being. 


	4. The Knight Bus!

It was getting harder for Harry to breathe. The makeshift "bandages" of linen that he had wrapped around his chest had gotten soaked earlier that day when a hole burst in the side of the garden hose, and now, drying in the hot sun, they were beginning to constrict tightly. He was sucking in quick, ragged breaths as he pulled weeds out from the bed of flowers next to the driveway. Suddenly something small and hard collided with the back of his head, but Harry ignored it, too distracted by the nauseating pain in his broken ribs. He wasn't able to take any painkillers because the medicine cabinet was purposefully locked, and as of now he almost wanted to cry. He hadn't yesterday, as Ron thought; he was just holding his face in his hands because he needed to consider the day's events. The screech of an owl finally caught Harry's attention, and he despondently turned around to see Pigwidgeon hopping about merrily on the evenly trimmed grass. He gently unwound the letter from the owl's foot, and sent it back to Ron without any food. Reading the parchment, Harry was glad to be invited to the Weasley's for the rest of the summer, but he was a bit alarmed by the urgent nature of the letter. That night, after he finished all of his chores, he responded to the Ron's note:  
  
Ron,  
  
I'd love to come over, thank you for inviting me. But your letter was a bit odd... you sound worried, more than anything else. I can guarantee that Voldemort is not at my house terrorizing me, so there's no need to rush over here and steal me away into the night. But...if you want to come soon, you can.  
  
Harry  
  
Harry tied the letter onto Hedwig's left leg, then opened the window and watched the owl slowly disappear into a tiny speck of white. Exhausted from the day's work, he carefully laid onto his back, and gingerly pulling the sheets up to his bruised chest, fell quickly asleep.  
  
Ron received Harry's letter the afternoon of the next day. He was sitting in his room when Hedwig fluttered gracefully through his window and held out her left leg. After he read the note, Ron didn't even bother to respond; he knew from the last sentence that Harry, in his subtle way, meant for Ron to pick him up as soon as possible.  
  
"Fred!" he called, running down the hallway and pushing himself through the door that still held a tattered "No Girls Allowed" sign scrawled in crayon. Fred and George were sitting on the floor and looking curiously at Ron. "Can you pick up Harry?"  
  
George shrugged, and Fred nodded. "Sure." When Ron began motioning wildly for the twins to follow him downstairs, the two young men became confused. "What...now?"  
  
"Yes, now! Come on!" They exchanged curious glances, then jogged downstairs after Ron. Once in the living room, Ron urged them to apparate. "Just pop up in Harry's room and take him with you or something."  
  
"That's not how apparating works, Ronniekins," answered George, "You can't just "take somebody with you"; he'll end up in pieces."  
  
"Well, what we could do," offered Fred, "Is apparate to the boy's room, grab Harry's school trunk and what-not, and apparate home with that. Then we could come back and ride with him on the Knight Bus."  
  
Ron grinned and hopped up and down wildly. "Yeah, that's a great plan! Go on, do it!"  
  
Once again, the twins exchanged glances. Then George smirked wickedly. "Well, Ron...what makes you think we have the time?"  
  
"Yeah, we're busy men," quipped Fred. "We've got a store to run. Think of all the money we'll lose if we're not there to take care of the shop."  
  
Ron paled, and considered this. "I...I have some money in a blue jar next to my closet. You can take whatever's in there."  
  
"Aww, Fred...he's such a good friend, offering up his savings to bring the kid over."  
  
"Wait- George, remember what Harry gave us last year?" Fred leaned over and whispered to his twin about the 1000 galleons they were given last year as incentive to start their joke shop.  
  
George looked towards his little brother and smiled. "We've decided not to charge you- but only because we're such wonderful brothers. Well, Fred...I suppose we should be on our way." And with that, they silently disappeared.  
  
Harry was in the hallway scrubbing dried blood out of the carpet when Fred and George came sneaking out of his room. He nearly leapt out of his skin in shock when the two redheaded men tumbled onto the floor next to him.  
  
"Oy, Harry! Where d'you keep your school stuff?" whispered Fred, crawling so that his face was level with Harry's.  
  
"I...erm...under my bed...but-" The twins sprung up and dashed into his room before he could finish his sentence. Harry scrambled after them and arrived just in time to see Fred and George disappear with all of his books and robes. He was still utterly surprised and confused with the men's first appearance when the two reappeared next to Harry's closet.  
  
"Come with us. We're taking you home on the Knight Bus." They each got a tight hold of one of Harry's arms and practically dragged him downstairs, hurrying past the parlor door where the Dursleys were having their afternoon tea. They quickly flagged down the Knight Bus and climbed aboard, sighing with relief once the metal doors slid closed.  
  
"Just keep quiet, Harry. If you put this hat on, nobody will recognize you." George shoved a strange looking headpiece over Harry's messy black hair. It had two beer cans attached to either side, and clear plastic tubes leading to a mouthpiece.  
  
Harry knew what kind of hat this was and how it was supposed to be used, but he didn't dare sip any of the beer. The last thing he wanted to do was arrive at the Weasley's house with alcohol on his breath.  
  
That evening, Ron peered into the ball with Harry in mind. He saw his friend fast asleep on Fred's shoulder, shaking gently with the mild rocking of the bus against the autumn wind. He smiled to know that Harry was alright and in the safe care of his brothers. 


	5. Ginny Finds Out!

It was indeed a happy day for Ginny when Harry Potter arrived one Saturday morning.  
  
Fred's voice yelled from behind the front door: "Let us in, it's bloody boiling out here! Good God, it must be 200 degrees!" George flattened his face against the fogged up window and whacked his hand repeatedly against the glass.  
  
"Okay, OKAY! I'm coming!" screamed Ginny from her room, leaping down the hallway and scrambling downstairs to let her brothers into the house. She threw open the door, and once Fred and George had tumbled impatiently into the living room, Harry was left on the front porch gazing sheepishly at her.  
  
"Thank you, Ginny, for letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it," he said, flashing a quick but brilliant smile.  
  
"It's no problem! I'm just glad you're not dead!" Immediately she regretted blurting that out, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry raised his eyebrows and blushed faintly.  
  
"Why would I be dead?"  
  
Ginny began to stutter while Harry stared curiously at her. It was his quiet patience that made Ginny so nervous...his innocent, wide-eyed gaze completely enraptured the girl, and it seemed that she had completely forgotten how to form words. Finally, after what seemed like minutes of incoherent speech, Ginny gave up trying to explain herself. "Hungry? I made breakfast. Mum and Dad went out to grab some supplies for the barbecue today, and I have absolutely no idea where Ron is. Causing trouble around the neighborhood, most likely."  
  
Harry grinned. "No...I'm sure he's somewhere around here, just being confused. Like, staring at the wall or something."  
  
Ginny giggled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Harry to enter the house. He did with a polite nod of his head and walked toward the kitchen. "I'm actually really hungry, I'm so glad you offered to feed me." Ginny quickly pattered behind him and, once in the kitchen, placed a plate and napkin on the table.  
  
"Sit. Eat." She poured a cup of milk and set it next to the other tableware. Harry sat down gratefully, smiling cheerfully at Ginny every time she walked over and placed more food on his plate. Once she seemed to run out of sustenance to supply him with, she sat down in the chair next to Harry and waited quietly for him to finish eating. She really wanted to ask him about what she saw in the crystal ball.  
  
When Harry realized that Ginny was waiting for him, he set down his fork and regarded her with a pleasant expression. "Hello. How are you?"  
  
Ginny fixed her eyes upon the handsome young man, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a subtle smile. "I'm just fine. And you? I noticed you wincing as you sat down."  
  
The rosy color of Harry's cheeks paled slightly, but he showed no other signs of apprehension. "Yeah...I hurt my ribs a few days ago. But I'm okay."  
  
Of course, Ginny was not satisfied with this answer. "How did you hurt them?"  
  
He was silent for several seconds as he tried furiously to think of a believable lie, an action not gone unnoticed by Ginny. "I...think I...might have...fallen. Yeah, I fell. Right on my face."  
  
"Sure, Harry. If you don't want to tell me the truth, that's fine. I won't get mad." She stood up and grabbed a paper towel off the kitchen counter. Harry looked up at her as she leaned directly over him to place it next to his plate. "I know you already have a napkin, but those pancakes look messier than I anticipated."  
  
He stared blindly at the paper towel. "I'll tell you."  
  
Ginny dropped into her seat and gaped incredulously at him. "Are you sure?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "Whatever. I trust you."  
  
"Really? More than Ron?" Ginny leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table, resting her head sideways atop of them so that she faced Harry.  
  
"No, he's my best friend. I just feel like I can tell you this sort of thing, as long as you don't tell anybody. ANYBODY." Ginny nodded and waited for his explanation.  
  
"Well...I don't know how to start...I know I have four broken ribs, and I know how it happened." He took a deep breath. "It's not because I fell. I'm a Seeker, so I'm coordinated and I don't fall. It's because..." He stared at his paper towel again. "It's because I was hit pretty hard, and I deserved it. That's how I got all these cuts on my arms." Harry pulled back a sleeve to show her what looked like hundreds of tiny brownish-red lacerations.  
  
Ginny watched him with great interest. "Who hit you?"  
  
Harry looked like he was about to throw up. "My uncle."  
  
Before Ginny could ask any more, Ron exploded into the kitchen with a rush of energy. "You're here! AND NOBODY TOLD ME! How long have you been here, mate?" Harry beamed as he received a joyful clap on the back.  
  
"About twenty minutes. Hey, what's this barbecue I heard about?"  
  
Ginny watched sullenly as Ron and Harry exchanged blissful chatter. She was so close to finding out the whole story, and her stupid goofy brother had to ruin everything. Dejectedly picking herself off her chair, she sulked upstairs and sat in the hallway outside her room. She could hear the boys talking about the barbecue, then Hermione, then school. "What does he mean, his Uncle hit him?" she thought. "Does this happen regularly? And how could he hit him so hard as to break his ribs? Why is his skin all cut up?" Her mind flashed back to the first scene in the crystal ball, when Harry was bleeding on the bathroom floor. "It's weird that he looked so wretched there, but he acts so happy around everybody," she thought, picking at a hardened stain on her sock.  
  
"Alright Harry, I'll be back in like...ten minutes," echoed Ron's voice from downstairs.  
  
"Cheers," responded Harry, who voice sounded like it came from the living room. The front door slammed shut, and light footsteps bounded upstairs. Harry arrived in the second floor hallway to notice Ginny sitting quietly on the carpet. He stood in front of her, waiting for her to notice his presence.  
  
Ginny looked up when she saw a pair of khaki pants in front of her face. "Hi, Harry."  
  
"Ron went to get his broom from your neighbor's house," he said. "We're going to play Quidditch."  
  
"Oh." An awkward pause ensued. Ginny spoke again to break the silence. "We never finished our conversation in the kitchen."  
  
"I know," said Harry, sitting next to her against the wall. He obviously did not want to initiate speaking about the delicate subject.  
  
Ginny absentmindedly pulled at the thin straps of her bra. Neither of them made eye contact. "Has he hit you before?" Harry nodded. "Why?" she asked.  
  
"He gets mad a lot," explained Harry. "But not just pissed...I mean like, violently mad."  
  
Ginny shifted her sitting position so that she was directly across from Harry, leaning against the opposite wall with her hands resting on her knees. "Does he hurt you badly?"  
  
"Sometimes. This isn't the first time he's broken bones. But don't get the impression that he's evil, because he's not. He's just a frightened Muggle, and he doesn't like the fact that I've got weird powers. I think it scares him." Harry stretched out his legs, which had been carefully folded up to his throat, and pulled up his shirt to expose his bare chest to Ginny. Several ragged strips of old fabric had been taped and knotted around his ribcage, and had been fastidiously arranged as if they were applied by a medical professional. The contrast of such shoddy material with Harry's meticulous workmanship would've been humorous had the situation not been so grim. "These aren't really working," said Harry, motioning towards the bandages. "And...I haven't gotten any painkillers. Sometimes it gets hard to breathe."  
  
Ginny's jaw hung half-open, and she crawled across the hallway so that she knelt near Harry. Peering closer at his chest, she painstakingly lifted the edge of a strip of fabric to see a savage pulp of black and blue. She ventured a finger towards his bare bruised skin, but Harry gently caught her hand and set it on the carpet. "Does it hurt?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry. "Do you have anything I could take, or do wizards not use pills?"  
  
"My brothers or Mum or Dad could put a charm on you so that you don't feel anything!," exclaimed Ginny hopefully. "Here, Gred and Forge- I mean, Fred and George -are home, they could do it!"  
  
"No!" cried Harry with an expression of horror, causing Ginny to draw back in alarm. "I mean- no adults. Don't tell anybody, please, I trusted you."  
  
Ginny sighed and bounced back and forth on her bum impatiently. "But- but you're hurt, and I can't help you 'cos I'm underage. Neither of use can use magic outside school, and we don't keep any Muggle pills around the house. Harry, there's nothing we can do but wait and make sure no one whacks you in the ribs until you're healed."  
  
Harry dropped his gaze towards his feet and knitted his brow in worry. "That could be until like...Christmas."  
  
"Or more, without treatment," said Ginny, biting her lower lip. "I know you hate to hear this, but...you need medical attention. You can't just break multiple bones and leave them completely exposed to whatever might come your way." She waited for Harry to say something, but he was silent. "What if today, when you're playing Quidditch with Ron and Fred and whoever else, a ball hits you in the chest? A broken rib could puncture your lungs, which would fill up with blood and suffocate you. Or one could pop out of your skin and you could be seriously injured or even die from blood loss. Not only that, but the player that accidentally hit you would think that your death was all their fault, when it was really your Uncle's."  
  
"It would be mine," said Harry, "because I was the one who chose to play knowing the risks I was taking."  
  
"You couldn't tell them that if you were dead."  
  
Harry sighed softly and dropped his shoulders in disappointment. "So...what should I do?"  
  
Ginny shrugged and watched a butterfly float lazily across a nearby window. "The only thing I can think of is to see a mediwizard."  
  
"But...," began Harry uneasily, "How could I do so without the rest of the family knowing?"  
  
The door opened and slammed shut downstairs, and heavy footfalls sprung into the house. "Oi, I've got the stuff, and I brought my neighbor!" yelled Ron from the living room. "He's gonna play with us! Harry, get my brothers and come outside!"  
  
Harry glanced at Ginny, who shook her head ominously. "Don't go, Harry. You're going to get hurt." He stood up, and not breaking eye contact, shrugged and bounded downstairs. Ginny jumped to her feet in disapproval and had gotten halfway down the stairs when she heard a scream.  
  
Ron and another young man were standing over Harry, who was lying on the floor. The unfamiliar young man had turned a very pale shade of green and seemed like he wanted to run away, while Ron knelt over the limp, slender body. "Mate, this isn't funny. Get up." Harry didn't move. "GET UP!" Ginny ran over to where the three boys were congregated and knelt on the other side of Harry. She placed two fingers on his corroded artery- a pulse was still beating in his neck. She sighed in relief; he was just unconscious, not dead.  
  
"What happened here?" she asked, looking up at Ron in anxiety.  
  
Ron threw up his arms in ignorance and stared fearfully at Harry's face, which was a sickly pale color. "I just smacked him, and he freaked out and like...fainted or something."  
  
"Uh-oh," thought Ginny. "Ron, where did you smack him?" she asked.  
  
"In the ribs. You know, we were just fooling around."  
  
Ginny stood up and walked over to the bottom of the stairway. "FRED! GEORGE! Get your wands and get down here, QUICK!" Several seconds later, the twins jogged downstairs and came to a dead halt when they saw Harry's condition.  
  
"What happened?" asked Fred, standing over the seemingly lifeless figure. George used his foot to tap Harry's shoulder, and succeeding in turning the boy over on his back, but did not wake him up.  
  
"Ron hit him right in his broken ribs!" cried Ginny indignantly. Ron shot up in alarm and faced Ginny, aghast.  
  
"What broken ribs? What are you talking about?" he demanded.  
  
Ginny kneeled next to Harry again. "Remember when we saw him in the crystal ball with the bandages on his chest? It's because his stupid Uncle broke his ribs, he told me so!" Ron was silent, turning this information over in his muddled mind.  
  
"His uncle hit him?" asked George quietly. Ginny nodded matter-of-factly. Fred sighed and pulled out his wand.  
  
"Okay, I know how to partially heal unconscious victims- me and George had to learn when people started passing out from our Violent Violet Suckers." He pointed his wand at Harry and muttered some Latin words.  
  
The healthy pink color that could usually be found on Harry's cheeks began to slowly return, and the boy tentatively opened his eyes. Harry propped himself up on one shoulder and looked around the room, stopping his eyes on the Weasley's neighbor. "I don't believe we've met," he croaked in a valiant attempt to regain his strictly polite British manners, "My name is Harry James."  
  
The blonde young man, who appeared a bit frightened, replied, "My name is Michael Alexander. H-how do you do?"  
  
Harry paused to consider this question. "I'm alright. A little wheezy, but I think I'm alright." He coughed, and spatters of blood flew onto his hand and face. "Not again," he moaned, lying back down. "Ginny, dear, would you be so kind as to hand me a napkin or something?" Ginny sprinted into the kitchen and came back holding a handful of tissues. Harry accepted them gratefully and coughed into them.  
  
"Listen," he began, "When you hit me in the chest, you got me right in my ribs - four of which are broken. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Ron, about this problem. It's not your fault that I'm all messed up now. And Fred, thanks for waking me up, but honestly I'd rather stay asleep because I can't feel anything when I'm unconscious. And Ginny-" the only girl in the house glanced up when Harry said her name, "You're a sweetheart. You're the nicest person I've ever met...I suppose that just needed to be said." Ginny blushed, and Ron looked a bit unsettled. "Now," said Harry, struggling to sit up, "I think I need to get some better bandages, or maybe some sort of splint, if that's possible."  
  
Suddenly Michael, who had been mostly quiet the whole time, finally spoke up. "My mum's a nurse, so we've got plenty of wraps, gauze, and antiseptic lying around the house. I could run home right now and get some," he offered, motioning with a thumb towards the door.  
  
Harry grinned, much to the surprise of everybody else. "Sure! That'd be just lovely." At these words, Michael dashed out the front door and ran the entire way home. 


	6. Let's Undress Harry! Whee!

Harry was sitting alone in Ron's room. The barbecue was scheduled to begin in about a half hour, and Hermione was supposed to arrive at the Weasley's house any minute. She wasn't staying afterwards, however, because she had been invited that morning on very short notice and didn't have time to pack any of her school supplies. Harry was waiting for Ginny to come in and help him get dressed for the party, since Michael had tied the hospital bandages very tightly and Harry found it rather painful to make any drastic movements. He was surprised by how anxious Ginny was in volunteering to assist him in changing his clothes, but he dismissed it as simply an act of kindness and so now sat patiently on Ron's bed.  
  
A knock on the door signified Ginny's arrival, and she walked in. The two teenagers greeted each other before Harry held up a beige sweater and a pair of jeans. "Could you please help me put these on?"  
  
"Sure." Harry sat on the side of the bed with his knees swung over the edge, and Ginny stood in front of him. "Can you raise your arms so I can take this old shirt off?" she asked.  
  
"I- I don't know, wait a minute and I'll try." He winced as he struggled to slowly raise his elbows, but had only gotten halfway when tears of frustration flooded to his eyes and he dropped his arms suddenly. "I can't," he said, hanging his head, "I feel so fucking helpless." Ginny's eyes grew wide at these words; she had never heard him curse before.  
  
"You're not helpless," she soothed, sitting next to him on the bed. "I mean, you went around with no treatment or painkillers whatsoever for DAYS. Now you're all wrapped up and ready to heal, so you have to take things slowly."  
  
Harry shook his head angrily; he didn't want to hear what she had to say. "I can't even get myself dressed!" he cried, regarding Ginny with fire in his eyes. "Four year olds can do more than I can!"  
  
"Harry!" protested Ginny, placing a gentle hand on his back. "That isn't true! Can four year olds defeat the Dark Lord every year since first coming to Hogwarts?" Harry said nothing, but stared bitterly at his knees. He blinked and a single tear splattered onto his pants.  
  
Ginny had no idea what to say next. She had never seen Harry in such a vulnerable state, and was a bit taken aback by how much he must trust her. She quickly reverted to the security of the reason that she had visited him in the first place. "I have an idea about your shirt," she said, but Harry didn't look up. "I can just cut it off, since its kind of old and I don't think all that blood will come out." She stood up, and grabbed a pair of scissors out of a drawer in Ron's desk. "Can you stand for me?"  
  
Harry carefully stood up, and let Ginny use the scissors to slice through the thin, dirty fabric. It was a bit of a turn-on for him, actually, to watch a pretty girl remove his shirt in such a way. Once Ginny slid the ruined shirt off of his shoulders, she stared quietly at the now exposed medical bandages wrapping his muscled chest. Neither of them noticed the absolute silence as they stood alone in Ron's room; Harry watched Ginny with subtle interest and a meaningful expression as she stood in front of him with her hands on his bare skin.  
  
Ginny was the first one to snap out of their trance, and she quickly left Harry to return the scissors to Ron's drawer. "Okay," she said, walking back towards Harry and standing in front of him once more, "Where is that sweater you wanted to put on?"  
  
"Oh, it's...right here," said Harry, picking the beige sweater off of Ron's bed and handing it to Ginny. She turned the clothing over in her hands, deciding on what would be the easiest method of applying it to the older boy standing expectantly in front of her.  
  
"Here, just...put your head through this hole," she said, removing his glasses and using them to hold back her hair before she pulled the neck of the sweater over Harry's head. "Now, can you stick your arms into the sleeves?" Ginny helped maneuver his arms through the soft wool until both of his hands appeared at the ends of the sleeves. Then she pulled the bottom down until the sweater fitted normally on the young man's frame.  
  
"Yay," remarked Harry unenthusiastically, and the redheaded girl smirked. "Well, now I've got those jeans to put on." Ginny gulped, and Harry felt his cheeks begin to flush.  
  
"Well first," began Ginny, "We have to take off these khakis." She bit her lip and Harry fought against his growing sexual arousal as Ginny unbuttoned his pants and slowly unzipped the fly. She gradually sunk to her knees as she pulled down the khakis and helped Harry step out of them. Throwing the old pants onto the chair sitting in front of Ron's desk, she grabbed the jeans off the obnoxiously orange Chudley Cannons bedsheets. Ginny rolled the legs up so that Harry could easily step into them - he found that it hurt more to sit than to stand, so he was never able to bend over and help with the addition of new jeans. Still kneeling in front of Harry, she stood as she pulled the jeans higher up the young man's legs until she was standing in front of him, and could easily button the fly of the pants which sat so fittingly on Harry's slender waist. Once the jeans were in place, she pulled the end of the sweater over them so that Harry looked dashing in his new outfit.  
  
Both of them were blushing. "Good thing we didn't need to tuck in a shirt," remarked Harry.  
  
Ginny giggled. "Yeah, I think I've had my hands down your pants long enough for one day." Harry began to laugh, but it turned into another violent fit of coughing. Ginny rubbed his back as blood began to appear on his hands and face, and the boy crumpled against the wall as more and more blood drenched his hands and wrists. Ginny rushed him into the bathroom, and Harry kneeled with his head and hands in the sink until his coughing subsided. He was breathing raggedly as Ginny ran cold water, staining the sink a deep red hue as Harry cleaned himself off.  
  
"Well," said Harry, several minutes later as he was drying his face, "Let's go downstairs, I think I just heard 'Mione's voice." The two hopped down the stairs, and once Hermione saw them land in the living room she ran over to Harry and gave him a tight, crushing hug.  
  
*Next chapter soon....how did you like that ending? Oh no, Harry can't get hugged like that! 


	7. What? Drunken Cats?

Hermione yelped as Harry shoved her to the floor and staggered out of the room, gasping for breath. Ginny hastily followed after him, leaving Ron to explain everything to the angry girl sprawled out on the floor. Holding out a hand and pulling a rather shocked and confused Hermione off the ground, Ron detailed her about the day's rather dramatic events.  
  
"Wait...so how did he break them again?" asked Hermione, after Ron had finished his ten-minute story.  
  
"HE didn't break them; his Uncle did," said Ron. "But we don't really know how it all happened."  
  
Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor and considered this new information. "I see." Looking up, she glanced towards where Harry had left the room. "I'm going to go ask him about it." She and Ron jogged down the first-floor hallway, and found Harry and Ginny in the bathroom.  
  
Ginny was sitting on the tile floor with her back leaning against the side of the bathtub, and Harry was looking pitiful, lying on the floor with his head face-down in Ginny's lap. His eyes were softly closed and he was hugging Ginny's legs instinctively.  
  
"That's SO gross! Ginny, get his head out of your lap!" cried Ron, lurching backwards in a fit of repulsion. His sister glared at him over her sharply bent knees.  
  
Hermione knelt next to Harry and stroked the side of his cheek. "Harry, I'm sorry...," she said, resting her head on Ginny's shoulder as she leaned towards him. "Is he sleeping?"  
  
"No," responded a muffled male voice.  
  
"I didn't mean to hurt you," cooed Hermione, petting his hair. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Sort-of," he answered. "Ron, I'm sorry about the condition of your sink."  
  
Ron leaned over the sink and noticed a thin layer of blood dripping down the sides.  
  
"I couldn't wash it all down," continued Harry.  
  
"It's okay, mate, don't worry about it," quickly answered Ron. "You think you'll be fit for the barbecue? Dad's nuts about that Muggle food-burning thing he found."  
  
"Yeah, I can go," said Harry, "I'm just a bit dizzy is all. I don't think I'll be able to eat much."  
  
"That's just fine, as long as you're not, like, dying or anything. You know."  
  
"I know," answered Harry with a smile that was buried in Ginny's upper thigh. Hermione and Ron left the room and headed towards the backyard, where Mr. Weasley was experimenting with his latest Muggle contraption: a red barbecue. Ginny, still in the bathroom, ran her hand lazily up and down Harry's shoulder.  
  
"You alright? Think you can stand?" At these words, Harry slapped a hand on the floor and used it as a lever to push his torso up. With incredible effort, he was able to stand up in a matter of seconds. He helped Ginny to her feet, and she led him out the door. Looking up at Harry's face, she noticed that he was a sickly pale color. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't look so good."  
  
Harry smirked. "Gee, thanks. Maybe I should've checked a mirror before I left."  
  
"No!" exclaimed Ginny. "I don't mean it like that! What I meant was...you look kind of nauseous."  
  
"I am," he responded, "You never got me those painkillers, and I'm still feeling Hermione's hug...that's why I was laying on top of you for over ten minutes."  
  
Ginny appeared a bit surprised at this information, but relayed it to Harry as a girlish smirk. "Oh...I just thought you liked having your face in a girl's crotch."  
  
Harry stopped dead at these words and stared at Ginny with his mouth hanging fully open. "WHAT?? You think I'm some kind of pervert cradle- robber?" Ginny laughed, but Harry was still offended. "No! Don't laugh! That was horrible!" he cried, his eyes shining with indignation. "You're only fourteen! You shouldn't be talking about oral sex!"  
  
"For God's sake, I was joking!" exclaimed Ginny with a smile. "Don't give me those hurt-puppy eyes; I know that you didn't have any sort of hidden sexual motives behind your actions." She grabbed Harry's arm and forced him to walk further down the hallway with her. "Let's go do something about those ribs of yours."  
  
Little did they know that Fred and George were tagging behind them.  
  
"I've got a great spell, Harry." The target of this comment whirled around like frightened cat, causing the twins to stumble backwards.  
  
"Gods, lad," cried George, still reeling from his near-fall, "Don't be so jumpy." Harry laughed, but Ginny just shook her head.  
  
"Anyway," began Fred, "I know of a great spell that will make you feel NOTHING."  
  
"Really?" exclaimed Harry, intrigued and somewhat relieved. "What is it?"  
  
Fred instructed Harry to close his eyes, and once he did, he felt a strange feeling of warmth come over him. All at once, the agonizing pain in his chest was completely gone, and he felt deliriously happy. He opened his eyes and began grinning madly. "Thanks, mates! I don't feel anything!" He turned and meant to skip into the living room, but instead unintentionally smacked his face right into the wall. Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth and offered help, but Harry hopped right back to his feet and started skipping again, this time making it into the living room but accidentally toppling over the side of the sofa.  
  
"Erm...there ARE a few side effects to that spell...," said George, watching Harry (who was still beaming with unnatural happiness) trip and fall for the fifth time.  
  
"Oh no," said Ginny, glaring at her brothers, "You didn't use that spell on Harry that made the neighbor's cat look drunk, did you?"  
  
The twins exchanged glances. "Well," began Fred, "You're right, we might have used the same spell." Ginny opened her mouth to yell, but George silenced her and let Fred continue his explanation. "BUT- since Mittens was a lot smaller than Harry, the spell doesn't work as strongly. I mean, Mittens was yowling and throwing himself at the wall, but Harry's just tripping over things. You see?" Ginny suppressed a guilty laugh as she noticed Harry stumble over his own feet and slam his head against the corner of the coffee table.  
  
"Still..." she reasoned, cocking her head to one side, "That's kind of sad to watch." Harry tried to throw himself onto the couch for safety, but managed to tumble over the arm of the sofa and roll across the carpet like a wagon wheel. He got up, dusted off his sweater, and actually was able to walk towards the three Weasleys without tripping once.  
  
"You guys ready for some barbecue?" he asked breathlessly, blood running down his face from a gash in his forehead. "I sure am!" He turned and ran towards the direction of the backyard. 


	8. Nipples and Burned Meat

It was an orange afternoon. A slow breeze fluttered the juicy green leaves of the oak tree in the Weasley's backyard, and nearly every redhead outside was wearing thin, white clothing. Candles were lit across a long, rustic picnic table, and plates were set primly alongside cups and napkins. No silverware was laid out for the hungry family, because it was a barbecue and Mr. Weasley thought it was a custom at Muggle barbecues to eat with one's hands. Two more sons, Percy and Charlie, had arrived that afternoon just before Hermione had, and now they sat next to their mother at the end of the table. Ron was trying to help his father cook the meat without magic (Arthur wanted this meal to be "authentic"), but was not succeeding and so Hermione stood behind the two men, barking orders. Nobody knew what was taking Fred, George, Ginny and Harry so long to join the rest of the party outside. Finally, when Harry tumbled down the back porch, splashing blood all over his joyous smile, it would suffice to say that the Weasleys were a bit startled.  
  
"OH MY GOD!" cried Molly, turning very red, and then very white, before she fainted. Charlie sprung up and caught her before her limp body hit the ground, and Percy quickly began fanning her with a napkin.  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you, Harry?" screamed Ron, more out of worry than anger. He, accompanied by his best friend Hermione, dashed over to where Harry was lying on the ground and laughing.  
  
"Oi, it's dinner time!" chirped Harry, leaping to his feet and skipping across the yard towards where the table was situated. Ginny, Fred, and George slinked out of the house and tried not to draw attention to themselves as they eased past Ron and Hermione.  
  
Of course, the bushy-haired girl would never fail to notice three bright orange heads of hair walking past her. She turned around and swung a stiff arm directly in Ginny's path. "Where do you think YOU'RE going?" Ginny paled and the twins tried to escape, but Hermione caught them both by the backs of their collars and yanked them onto the ground next to their sister. "What exactly did you do to him?" she said, referring to the eerily giggling young man who had just accidentally burnt his fingers on one of the candles.  
  
Fred jabbed George, who understood his brother's hint and cleared his throat. "Well, we overhead Harry telling Ginny that he needed something to mask the pain he's been feeling, and -"  
  
It was Ginny who cut him off. "-AND they put some crazy spell on him that makes him act all clumsy and mindless! It wasn't my fault! I had absolutely NO part in this!" declared Ginny, complete with wild gestures. The twins gaped in indignation.  
  
"Oh, sure!" screamed Fred. "You were laughing right along with us!"  
  
"Laughing?" asked Hermione. "But Ginny, I thought you fancied Harry." Apparently the twins had forgotten this, and now they gasped and began teasingly prodding their sister in the shoulder.  
  
"OOOOOO! Somebody-has-a-BOY-friend!" exclaimed George. "Hey Harry!" he called, attracting the boy's attention. "Wait 'til you hear this one!" Before he could breathe another word, Ginny had tackled him and started to threaten him so violently that George began to whimper and squirm. "Okay, okay, fine I won't say anything!" cried the poor boy. Hermione pulled Ginny off of her brother and once again questioned them about the spell.  
  
"Is it reversible?" she asked. Ginny shrugged.  
  
"Well...you see," said Fred, "It has to pass a certain stage before it can be reversed. First comes clumsiness- which you can observe now, the poor boy can barely stand up straight - and then there's what I like to call the "loose tongue" stage; that's where the subject of the spell starts saying things he'd normally keep under his hat, if you know what I mean. If the spell is untreated, next the victim would either fall into a very deep sleep or die, but after the second stage has passed the spell can be reversed."  
  
"DIE?" cried Hermione. "You performed this spell on poor little Harry knowing that he might be killed?" Fred stammered in lack of having anything consoling to say. "Oh my God...when is that second stage going to pass?" asked Hermione.  
  
"Maybe half an hour after it comes into effect," offered George. "I dunno, it worked differently on Mittens, God rest his soul."  
  
Ginny sighed. "Well, then we ought to babysit him for the next half hour, I suppose." She stood up and walked over to where the family was watching in horror as unbridled flames sprung out of the barbecue. Everybody was crowded around Arthur as he tried to rescue whatever meat had not been scalded. Ginny stood at the very back of the crowd; when she saw Harry walk up behind her without tripping she knew that he'd passed into the second stage.  
  
"I can see your nipples through your shirt," said Harry, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh my GOD, why did that just come out?" he screamed under his hand. Fortunately, everybody (except for Ginny) was too immersed in trying to save the precious food to notice what he'd just said.  
  
Ginny blushed and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry had turned white as a sheet and hid his mortified face in his hands. "I am SO sorry; I don't know why I just said that. It's okay if you never want to speak to me again, I'd understand."  
  
"No, it's okay, it's that spell that Fred and George used on you that made you say that. See, you stopped tripping because clumsiness was the first stage, but now you're in the second stage, which means that you say whatever's on your mind," said Ginny, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "So whatever you say tonight I promise I won't take to heart."  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Is there a third stage?"  
  
"Yeah," said Ginny, "In the third stage you either fall asleep or die."  
  
Harry sprung backwards as though he had just been stung by a bee. "DIE?" I'm going to DIE? Can't you reverse the spell?"  
  
"Yes, but only after the second stage is over."  
  
"So I have to wait it out? Stupid Fred and George!" Suddenly he stopped and regarded Ginny very seriously. "You know I didn't just mean to call them stupid, right? I couldn't help it, it was the spell."  
  
"I know," reassured Ginny with a smile. "It's okay, I think they're stupid too."  
  
Harry grinned and patted Ginny lightly on the back. "You know what? You're alright. And that wasn't magic talking, I really meant that."  
  
Ginny beamed and felt her cheeks grow warm. She patted Harry likewise. "You're alright too, Harry."  
  
The young man shrugged and blushed, smiling at Ginny with shining eyes. "Yay, I have a new friend," he sang, still smiling warmly. "What what, holla back, yo. H to the hizzie."  
  
Ginny burst out laughing. "That was the spell, wasn't it?" Harry just chuckled and nodded.  
  
Just then, the crowd that was gathered around the once flaming barbecue split up, each taking their burgers. Apparently Arthur had tamed the fire and made cheeseburgers while Harry and Ginny were immersed in each other's company. The two meatless teens received a burger from Mr.Weasley and found a spot next to each other on the long picnic table. Sitting across from the two were Ron and Hermione, and sitting in between Harry and Percy (who was next to his mother at the end of the table) were Fred and George. What nobody- except for the co-conspirators- knew was that the twins had a very interesting evening planned for an unsuspecting Harry. They decided to utilize the fact that the boy wasn't able to hold his tongue for the next half-hour or so.  
  
"So, Harry...," drawled Fred, innocently sipping from his glass of apple juice, "Whatcha been up to lately?"  
  
Harry swallowed the bite of burger he'd been chewing and answered Fred without delay. "Oh, you know, the usual...studying, sleeping, being the Dursley's butler."  
  
George leaned forward in subtle interest. "Anything else?"  
  
"Well," he said, "In the past hour, I've blinked 2038 times, inhaled 4562 times, and tripped 37 times." Ron choked on his food, and even Harry seemed a bit surprised at his last statement.  
  
The twins exchanged worried glances- their plan wasn't working! It was time to resort to new tactics. "So," said Fred, "Been thinking of any girls lately?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The twins smirked devilishly, Hermione, who by now had realized what the boys were up to, shook her head in disapproval. Ginny frowned- either he would say her name, and would probably get beaten severely; or, more likely, he would mention a different girl's name and unknowingly break Ginny's heart. Ron just kept eating. "Who ya been thinking about, ol' Harry-kins?" asked George.  
  
Harry set his cup down. "Well last year I was totally mad about Cho- you know her, Cho Chang, that Chinese 6th-year Ravenclaw. But more recently I've been looking at your little sister. She's getting older, and I like it." At these words, Ron spewed his apple juice clear across the table, and the twins stared at Harry's empty seat (the owner of which had crawled under the table in shame) in silent astonishment. Hermione was deep in her own thoughts, and Ginny's face was so flushed it almost blended into her fiery red hair.  
  
"Please don't hurt me," quailed a tiny voice from under the table. "I didn't mean to say that, it was your spell that made me." Seconds later, the voice added, "Ron, I can see you kicking me. I can't feel any pain, remember? So it's no use, you might as well stop."  
  
"No," said Ron, who felt like he had just been betrayed, "I'm enjoying myself."  
  
In the midst of all this, everyone looked up as Hermione, on the brink of tears, stood up and ran into the house. 


	9. Howbout them Apples

It was Friday. Hermione had gone home last night after the barbecue, not even sparing a goodbye as she rushed out the front door towards her parent's Mercedes. She hadn't bothered to tell anybody why she seemed so upset; not even Ginny, whom she usually confided in. After dinner, as soon as Harry started to nod off into the "third stage", Fred performed the reversing charm on his spell and rescued the poor boy from near-certain death. Due to the sheer number of times Harry had fallen on his ribs, whacked his head, burnt himself, and just gotten hurt, by the time the numbing effects of the spell had worn off Harry was writhing on the floor and howling in pain. Ron, in a fit of horror and frustration, had knocked his miserable friend over the head with a fallen branch from the Weasley backyard, rendering Harry peaceful and unconscious. Now his emerald eyes were hidden under softly closed lids; the young man was lying quietly in Ron's bed with his hands folded gently over his chest like a corpse. Ginny and her mother were inspecting Harry's various bruises and abrasions in the morning sunlight, patching him up as they saw fit. Of course, by now Mrs. Weasley knew about Harry's multiple broken ribs, but she didn't know how he had received them in the first place. The redheaded siblings pretended they didn't know how Harry had broken those bones, and although their parents didn't believe them, they knew it was useless to question their sons and daughter any further.  
  
Mrs. Weasley reached blindly for another bandage, keeping her eyes on a partially scabbed-over gash on Harry's upper thigh. She grunted in annoyance when her hand found none. "Ginny," she said, glancing towards the slender girl sitting next to her, "Be a dear and keep an eye on Harry while I run to that Michael-boy's house and ask his mother for some of those hospital supplies I've been hearing so much about. He's just next door, right?"  
  
"Yeah," said Ginny, squeezing a bit of antiseptic gel onto a square of gauze, "He was here yesterday before the barbecue, playing Quidditch with Ron. You know him, that shy blonde guy about Harry's age. I think his house is like...ten minutes away, just follow the little stream behind our house." Soon Mrs. Weasley had left, and Ginny was left alone in Ron's room with Harry...again.  
  
As Ginny slowly wiped a bit of blood off of Harry's face with a damp washcloth, she began to feel regret for having laughed at him yesterday as he damaged his young body almost beyond repair. She sighed and ran a thumb along the soft edge of Harry's lower lip, remarking to herself about how strangely warm it felt. Her other hand gently cradled his limp wrist as she stared, almost entranced, at his sharp features set in porcelain skin. She gasped, and drew back- his eyelashes began to flutter apart, and he stirred a little as he woke up and saw Ginny kneeling next to his bed. He made a low, masculine noise deep in his chest while seeming to calculate exactly why she was in the room with him.  
  
"Wha...what are you doing, Ginny?" he asked groggily, staring at her with no readable emotion.  
  
Ginny returned his gaze silently for several seconds while she assembled a proper response. "Mum and I were just cleaning you up so you wouldn't get infected or anything. She left just now to get some supplies from Michael's house."  
  
"Oh," murmured Harry. He looked around the room cautiously, as if he'd never seen it before. Slowly he brought his attention back to her. "Where am I hurt?"  
  
"Um...," began Ginny, once again leaning over the bed and scanning his barely clothed body for major injuries, "You have a really gross laceration on your right thigh, burns on your hands, about seven bad scrapes on your arms and legs, a concussion, and we think one of those broken ribs is shattered."  
  
Harry, who still appeared half-asleep, considered this new information. "That sucks," he remarked lackadaisically, scratching the side of his neck. "I still can't feel any of it. I thought your brother took that spell off of me."  
  
"He DID," answered Ginny with a frown, mirroring Harry's troubled expression, "You mean you can't feel any pain at all? Last night you were spazzing out, I don't know why you should be numb today."  
  
Suddenly Harry winced, and his chin quivered, "I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
Ginny grabbed Harry's chin and made him face her. "What? What's wrong?"  
  
"What if I'm paralyzed?" cried Harry with a wild expression, "How do you know I'm not paralyzed? Ginny!"  
  
She held his head in both of her freckled hands and stared deep into his eyes. "Because I know. Trust me."  
  
Harry stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes. "O-okay," he answered quietly, not tearing his gaze from hers. "But...but why do you think I'm so numb?"  
  
Ginny sat back down on the carpet, releasing him from her grasp and considering this question. "Maybe Mum drugged you while I was in the bathroom or something." She searched the carpet for a bottle of powder or vial of potion that her mother might have used to alleviate Harry's tortured nerves. Seconds later, she noticed a small glass urn filled with something blue. "This is it," she said, cracking open the lid of the glass and sniffing its contents. "Yep, just as I suspected: extract of levoton. I read about this; it can be used as a powerful anesthetic. Harry, I KNEW you weren't paralyzed!" No response came from the bed. "Harry?" She drew herself up onto her knees and leaned over the bed. Harry was fast asleep with his fingers tightly clutching onto the edge of Ginny's shirt. 'Aw,' thought Ginny with a loving smirk, 'He must be exhausted'. She tried to pry his hand off her tank top, but his grip was unusually strong and so her efforts were to no avail. Ginny, growing anxious, shook Harry's shoulder and tried to wake him up, but he was fully unconscious and would not stir. She sighed. It was about nine o' clock in the morning, and she had never changed out of her bra-less pajamas, so she absolutely would not be able to take off her shirt in a house full of men. But...the rest of the family were all either downstairs or outside, and Harry was completely passed out, so she might be able to rip off her shirt and make a mad dash to her room without being seen. 'Okay,' she thought to herself, taking a deep breath, 'On the count of three I take off my shirt and make a run for it. One...two...,"  
  
At that moment, several things happened at once. Ron, who was outside the house playing Quidditch with his brothers, whacked an apple towards George with the intent to hit him in the face. However, George expertly dodged that apple, keeping it on its original path. The fruit sailed towards the second floor of the house and crashed through Ron's window, landing in a pile of broken glass on his desk. Harry woke up with a start just as Ginny counted to three and exposed herself.  
  
Harry shrieked and obscured his view for Ginny's sake, although something on the lower half of his body begged him to remove his hands from his eyes. Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, and because Harry had let go of her shirt when he woke up, she pulled it back on and ran out of the room fully clothed.  
  
"Oi!" yelled Fred, who was hovering on his broom in front of the broken window, "Harry, d'we wake you up?"  
  
"Yeah," called Harry, propping himself up on his elbows. "It's okay, don't worry about it!" He blushed and bit his lip, worried that Ginny was probably in her room crying in humiliation. 'She's a sweet girl,' he thought, feeling rather guilty for accidentally seeing her topless, 'I wish there was some way I could make her feel better. The poor lass is probably traumatized.' He pictured her lying on her bed sobbing and tearing up a photo of himself and her brother, then scribbling, "I hate Harry, I hope he dies" on all of her belongings. Then he imagined her in ten years as a nun. 'She's so gentle and innocent,' he thought, 'I wonder how bad she'll take this.'  
  
"What the FUCK is your problem, you assholes!" screamed a small female voice from outside the house. Startled, Harry leaned over to his left and peered out of the broken window. Ginny had stormed outside and was now advancing down the front yard towards her brothers, who were taking a break from the game. "What the hell do you jack-offs think you're doing, whacking apples through windows!" Ginny stood in front of Ron, Fred, George, and Charlie, who were cowering in fear under a willow tree. "You know what you did? You woke Harry up, and he's TRYING to heal!" Harry's jaw dropped as he watched a petite young girl bludgeon four redheaded men until they were begging for mercy. About ten minutes of violent fury later, it seemed that Ginny was satisfied and she stalked back into the house.  
  
Harry was laying in bed very quietly and a bit scared when Ginny tiptoed delicately into the room. "Gee Harry, I'm real sorry that my brothers woke you up," she said in a tender, sweet voice, "Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat." Harry, who had pulled the covers up protectively up to his frightened eyes, quickly shook his head no. "Okay then, call me if you need me. Oh, and my Mum should be home any minute now, so don't be alarmed when she comes into the room. Sweet dreams!" she called with an adorable smile, closing the door carefully. Harry sighed in relief and stared wide-eyed at the door.  
  
"Don't you DARE go into that room, douche-bag! It was YOUR apple that broke the window!" screamed Ginny from the hallway. Harry, who heard this from inside the room, jumped in fear and pulled the blankets over his head. He thought he knew her very well as the shy, innocent little sister of his best friend; but after that display of strength and self-confidence he wasn't sure about anything anymore. 


	10. UhohSecret Diary!

As soon as her parents parked their silver Mercedes sedan in the driveway, Hermione tumbled out of the car, ran into the house and upstairs into her room, where she tossed her black bag onto the floor and flung herself onto her bed, near tears. She couldn't believe that Harry felt that way about Ginny. It must have been purely sexual, it had to be. He couldn't possibly be interested in another girl when Hermione had been there for him throughout the past five years of his life. After turning the entire situation over in her muddled mind, she lifted her head off of her wet pillow and reached for her bag- there was an entire pack of mint gum in there, and her mouth still tasted bitterly of Mr. Weasley's burned meat. However, when she opened the bag there was no gum- on the contrary, the first things she saw when she unzipped the top flap were a pair of yellow boxer shorts and a half-empty bottle of aftershave. 'Oh no,' she thought with a disappointed sigh, 'I must have taken Harry's bag instead. Well, I ought to close it immediately and write Harry an owl about what happened'. She was just about to zip the bag shut when a small image of herself dressed in a devil costume appeared on her left shoulder with a puff of black smoke.  
  
"Hermione," said her miniature alter-ego, "Look through his bag. Who knows what juicy stuff you might find!"  
  
Startled by the devil-girl, Hermione was just about to brush her off of her left shoulder when a second creature appeared on her right shoulder. Conversely, this was also a tiny clone of herself, but it was dressed in a white gown with wings and a halo. "No, my love, do not search through the boy's bag. You would be impeding on his sacred privacy."  
  
"What?" cried Hermione, standing up and trying to shake off the two little women, "What the hell are you? Ew, get off of me!" Devil-Hermione and Angel- Hermione would not budge, but stood defiantly on either shoulder, shaking their heads at their host's rash and ignorant reaction.  
  
"Sorry, chick," said Devil-Hermione, "You can't knock us off. You gotta listen to us first, kapeesh?"  
  
Hermione complacently sat on the edge of her bed and waited expectantly for the two beings to explain their opinions.  
  
"My dear," began Angel-Hermione, "If he ever discovered that you rummaged through his personal belongings, he would never be able to trust you again. Please heed my warning." Devil-Hermione snorted rudely at this and pinched Hermione's neck ("Ouch! What do you want?") to get her attention.  
  
"Listen, girlie, he never has to find out. And what harm could it do? You're just a curious teenager, blame it on hormones if you want. And hey, what if you didn't actually look through the bag...what if it fell over, and you couldn't help but see everything that spilled out?"  
  
Hermione considered this for a moment. "Well...I guess you're right, it wouldn't be my fault if I just happened to knock it over and accidentally saw everything."  
  
"No!" screamed Angel-Hermione, losing her once prim and proper composure, "Don't do it! Don't listen to that bitch!" The two other Hermiones gasped at Angel-Hermione's sudden change of temperament, and Devil-Hermione, who was now enraged, leapt on top of Hermione's head with a growl.  
  
"You wanna come up here and say that?" Angel-Hermione agreed, and climbed up Hermione's thick hair until she stood next to Devil-Hermione. Then the two began to scream and claw at each other, trying to knock their opponent off of Hermione's head.  
  
"Get off!" cried Hermione, trying in vain to knock the two fighting girls onto the floor, "Auggh, you're pulling my hair!" Suddenly, one of them got tangled in Hermione's bushy locks, and started wailing desperately for help, clutching onto a nearby ear for safety.  
  
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside of Hermione's closed door, and her mother walked into the room to see her daughter reeling back and forth like a drunken person and batting the empty air above her head. "What are you doing?" she demanded, hoping against all odds that her child wasn't insane.  
  
"I'm so glad you're here!" exclaimed Hermione, her expression brightening, "You can help me get these two tiny ladies off of my head!" Mrs. Granger stared at her blankly, then rushed into the hallway and called for her husband. Seconds later, Mr. Granger's head appeared in the doorway.  
  
"She looks fine to me, Harriet." Husband and wife whispered together for a moment, then decided that whatever wizard-food their daughter had eaten at her friend's house was the cause of this nonsense, and left the room muttering with distrust of the Weasley family.  
  
Once the two adults were gone, Angel-Hermione and Devil-Hermione disappeared as well, leaving Hermione completely alone with the black bag. Tiptoeing towards it, she kicked it lightly, knocking it onto its side and consequently spilling everything out. 'Oops,' she thought to herself with a pleased grin, 'Didn't mean to do that'. Kneeling down to replace the bag's contents into their original carrier, she inspected each object before dropping it inside the black satchel. "Toothbrush...oops, he'll need that...Razor...yep, he'll need that too...Strange purple bottle...," At these words she opened up the bottle and looked inside. A small pile of brown powder sat quietly at the bottom. "...filled with weird brown stuff...," she continued, "...I don't know if he'll need that or not, I sure hope he doesn't...Umm, let's see...blue jacket...jean shorts...grey sweater...four- no, five pairs of tartan boxers...red book," she stopped once again and held the book in her hands, deciding whether or not to look inside. Her curiosity won her over, and she timidly opened the front cover.  
  
"This is NOT a diary! It is a JOURNAL!" read the title page in messy, scrawled lettering. She chuckled to herself; that was definitely something that she could imagine coming out of Harry's mouth. Daring herself to read an entry, she flipped a through the book until she came to a page covered in tiny black letters.  
  
"Saturday...I think...maybe it's Friday.  
  
Sometimes I wonder what I'm still doing living here. I'd be much better off homeless, at least then I wouldn't get beat so often. I'd probably eat more, too. But I'd probably have to eat weird things, like cardboard and dead cats. Maybe once in a while I'd snag a half-eaten cheeseburger from the dumpster. Mm, that would be sweet. I'd be the luckiest homeless guy in the world! Check me out, I got half a cheeseburger! I'd show off to all my homeless friends, and pretend that I was gonna give them some, but then take it back at the last second! Eek, the Uncle's coming, gotta hide this befor "  
  
Drops of blood stained the bottom of that page, and Hermione paled a little as she continued reading.  
  
"I think my wrist is broken. Not the one I'm writing with, of course, the other one...it's all blue and swollen, and it hurts really EXTREMELY bad. I think I'm going to throw up. Be right back. Okay, I'm back. Yeah, I just threw up twice...I'm in serious pain right now, but I can't think of anything else to take my mind off of my wrist so I'm just going to keep writing until I fall asleep. I didn't do anything to make him hurt me. He says that I broke the vase, but I didn't, Dudley did. As if Vernon would ever believe that his precious son could do anything wrong. This time was the second-to-worse beating so far (that time when I was 9 being the worst). He punched me a few times, but I'm used to that so it was no big deal, but then he grabbed my wrist and kept twisting it and twisting it, and I begged him to stop but he didn't, he just kept twisting it until something snapped and I started screaming. He's hurt me really bad before, but he's never acted crazy like that. I mean...there was no soul in his eyes while he was hurting me, just emptiness and anger and.I don't know, I'm not a good writer, it was just weird. It's just a fucking vase! It cost twenty pounds, I could buy you a new one! I can't stand this anymore.  
  
Let's pursue a new topic. I got a letter from Hermione today! She went to Ireland last week, I hope it was fun. I'm glad I have friends...I probably would have killed myself by now if I didn't have Ron and Hermione. They're like my brother and sister, and...and I want to tell them that I love them, but I've never told anybody that before, and nobody's ever said it to me so I don't know exactly how I'd go about it."  
  
Suddenly the entry stopped, and Hermione figured he must have fallen asleep by that time. She wiped a tear from her cheek as she re-read the part where Harry described how his Uncle hurt him that evening, and shut the book, regretting ever having opened it in the first place. She couldn't believe that Harry had been living like that his entire life; he certainly didn't act like it. Perhaps it was all a charade he put on to mask what a horror his home life was. She knew that his Uncle had broken his ribs several days ago, but she didn't know how it had happened, and she concluded that it was a one-time-only thing, not an ongoing process of abuse and hate. A spark of curiosity shuddered through her body as the wheels of her mind turned out the question: how exactly did his Uncle hurt Harry earlier that week? 'It must be written in this diary somewhere,' thought Hermione. She gazed downward at the ominous red book, which seemed noticeably heavier than it had been before. 'To read, or not to read,' she thought, brow furrowed and face intent, 'That is the question'. After bringing to her mind the image of her beloved Harry being beaten, she decided, 'Read'. She quickly leafed through the book until she found a recent entry, which...sickly enough, was deeply stained with blood.  
  
"Wednesday, I'm sure of it.  
  
Okay...I'm bringing myself to write, because I know I should...if I'm dead, and somebody finds this, they'll know why, and that man can be arrested and sentenced to the full extent of the law.  
  
My entire body hurts. There are cuts everywhere, and they're all bleeding and they won't stop. I just took a shower, too, and I was clean for about three seconds, but now I'm covered in blood again...there's blood everywhere, all over my room, all over my clothes, all over my skin. I can't breathe. My chest hurts so bad, and I want to cry, but I'm a man and men don't cry. Whenever I breathe in it feels like the air doesn't go through, it just sits there doing nothing until I breathe it back out. I feel seasick. I'm laying on my bed completely flat and nearly motionless save for the hand that's writing, but my head is swimming and I just threw up everything I ate for the past week. He punched me so hard in the chest, I think my ribs are broken...the skin is all blue and squishy and swollen. And then he slammed my head against the window and it broke, and glass went everywhere, and cut me all over, its just this constant pain coursing through my body and I can't take it anymore, I just can't. It's just as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, believe me, but at least Voldemort took that spell off of me after a few minutes...this pain goes on forever and it won't stop, and I can't fall asleep because it hurts so bad, so I'm just writing and writing until I run out of things to say. All his insults and all his curses make me feel like I'm nothing, like I'm not even a person. I've grown to ignore them over the years, but...it's just every day this constant negative energy directed towards me, and I'm always "stupid" or a "freak" and I'm always locked in the closet. I don't understand, what exactly do they have against me? What makes me so horrible? The worst was when I was nine, like I mentioned before...I'm not even going to go over the details because I've tried so hard to repress that memory, but let's just say...gun...head...pain...closet. No, I wasn't shot in the head, that's crazy. It was held to my head after a VERY severe beating because Vernon got laid off from his job and apparently it was my fault. I was so scared, I was only nine, and I honestly believed that he would shoot me. I guess he didn't because I was barely conscious anyway, so I wasn't much to kill...he just threw me in the closet all bloody and broken. It was horrible...I don't want to think about it anymore; I'm sorry, but I can't keep writing, it hurts like hell to raise my shoulder like I'm doing. I guess...maybe I'll write later. Bye."  
  
Hermione stared blankly at the page for several seconds before shivering and falling into tears. She buried her face in the carpet and sobbed for the sake of her best friend. 


	11. Let's Be Serious Now

Mrs. Weasley waved thankfully to the mediwizard as he apparated off the front doorstep. Closing the door, she trudged slowly across the living room and sunk into the old sofa in relief. Her son's friend would be perfectly healthy in a few hours, and she wouldn't have to pay the staggering medical bills due to the patient's celebrity status. It was only the wee hours of the morning, and the barely rising sun had begun to create dull gray streaks in the darkling sky. However, not a single bewitched lamp failed to shine brightly in the burrow; none of the Weasleys could sleep after the dramatic events of the mediwizard's extended visit.  
  
The rumors circulating around the neighborhood were true; The Boy Who Lived was staying at the old Weasley place, and last night he almost died. Molly felt another wrinkle of anxiety indent itself permanently into her freckled forehead as she recalled the image of Harry's pale, sweaty hand squeezing hers as his body clung desperately to the last shreds of life. Apparently he had a severe allergy to a common wizard's herb, and when the mediwizard used it as a tonic to seal up a dangerous hole in his patient's left lung, Harry reacted violently and nearly suffocated. Ron was the only child allowed in the room, while Ginny stood outside the door praying furiously to save the life of the object of her affection.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione was sitting quietly in her room, debating whether or not to deliver Harry's bag to the Burrow. She had to at one point, of course, because it contained all of his clothes and toiletries, but as of now she still felt uncomfortable with the idea of confronting Harry - and that's if she even asked him about what she read in his journal. She really wanted to talk to him about it; she just knew that if he found out that she had been looking through his bag he would probably grow angry and not speak to her, much less hold a heartfelt conversation with her about his brutal living situation. Hermione had no idea what danger Harry's life had just been in several hours ago during his treatment, so after a few minutes of thought she decided to stop by the Burrow the next morning armed with Harry's bag and a list of personal questions to ask him.  
  
Sunday morning, after she had gone to church, Hermione knocked politely on the Weasley's front door. Ron opened it and appeared very surprised to see his friend after the manner in which she left after Friday's barbecue.  
  
"Whoa! I mean - hullo Hermione, how are you?"  
  
Hermione grinned slightly and held up Harry's black backpack. "I'm fine. Actually, I've got Harry's bag; I picked it up accidentally, thinking it was mine." She leaned her head to the side to try to catch a glimpse of the inside of Ron's house from over his broad shoulder. "Is he there? Can I come in?"  
  
Ron jumped at the question and mentally berated himself for not offering to let her inside the house. "Oh! Yes, sorry, come on in." He stepped aside and let her pass through the open doorway into the living room. "Since you're here to see Harry, I ought to let you know that he was technically dead for about ten seconds last night."  
  
Hermione froze in her steps and whirled around, wide-eyed. "You're kidding."  
  
"I wish," said Ron, shaking his head gravely, "He's fine now, but you should've seen him last night. It was mad, 'Mione, I swear. Ginny was spazzing out, if you can imagine."  
  
"What happened?" she asked, fascinated.  
  
"I dunno, I'm no doctor, but I think something went wrong while the mediwizard was fixing up Harry's chest. I mean, Harry was knocked out so he wouldn't be aware of anything, of course, but even in his unconsciousness he was just screaming and crying and Mum was going starkers."  
  
"Oh my God," interjected Hermione, sitting down on the sofa while keeping her eyes blindly locked on the atmosphere in front of her. "What, did the guy cut him open or something and then mess up with a potion?"  
  
"No, Ron," said Ginny, walking downstairs and entering the room, "Harry wasn't knocked out; he couldn't react to pain if he was unconscious. The mediwizard didn't want Harry to see what was going on, of course, but instead of making him sleep he just used a spell to keep Harry's eyes shut."  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together and knitted her brow in concern. "Poor kid...good thing school is starting soon; I know that I always feel better in a classroom." Ron rolled his eyes and muttered something about bookworms.  
  
Heavy, deliberate footsteps padded slowly down the carpeted stairway, and the three teenagers gasped to see Harry standing at the bottom. "Hey mates," he greeted with a soft smile. He was still very pale and looked like he was about to fall over, but Harry gripped the end of the railing tightly and tried his best to cheer up his friends. "Nice to see you, 'Mione."  
  
"Harry!" cried the only brunette in the room, jumping out of her seat and sprinting towards her friend. She was about to hug him, but suddenly remembered what happened last time she did that and so now refrained. "I heard what happened last night. Are you alright?"  
  
Harry grinned. "Yep! I'm all healthy again, thanks to this family. I'm just a bit sleepy, that's all. You woke me up when you slammed the front door shut."  
  
Hermione's face fell at these last words, and she apologized profusely. "Oh hey," she added, after Harry expressed that apologies weren't necessary, "I have your bag. You've got mine, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, nodding, "Don't worry, I didn't look through it or anything. Here, let me run up and get it for you."  
  
"No!" cried Hermione, grabbing his arm so that he couldn't leave, "Don't strain yourself. Ron, Ginny," she called, turning towards the redheaded siblings standing curiously across the room, "We'll be back in a second, I'm going to help him upstairs."  
  
"I don't think he needs help," said Ron, just as Harry said, "I don't think I need help."  
  
"Yes you do!" said Hermione, escorting him upstairs. Of course, she knew that Harry didn't need assistance walking up a flight of stairs, but she needed some time alone with him so that she could possibly bring up the subject of what she'd read in his journal. Once the two had entered Ron's room, where Harry had been living for the past few days, Hermione purposefully dropped Harry's bag so that it spilled the red book onto the floor, consequently splaying the journal wide open. "What's this?" asked Hermione, darting down to pick it up before Harry, in his weakened state, could even begin to protest. She had flattened a specific page last night so that when it "accidentally" opened it would expose that page, which, as fortune (or misfortune) had it, was bloodstained. She read it quickly, then looked up at Harry, who was staring at her with dark eyes.  
  
"Fine. Now you know." He snatched the journal from her hands and sulked out of the room. Hermione ran after him and once again grabbed his arm to stop him. "What?" snapped Harry. Hermione drew back at his uncharacteristic hostility.  
  
"Don't walk away, she said gently. "I'm not going to get all weird about it, don't worry." Harry's mouth opened and shut; he had no idea what to say. Just then, Hermione reached out and embraced him snugly. Somehow, the way that she ran her hand up and down his back soothed him, and he felt himself relax and rest his head against hers. After several quiet minutes, Hermione was the first to speak. "You think of me as your best friend, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you trust me, don't you? You must know me well enough to be able to trust me."  
  
Harry hesitated before answering this; Hermione was a highly intelligent girl, and she was obviously trying to trap him into answering a loaded question. "Erm...yes."  
  
"So," said Hermione, her mind racing towards a point, "Since I'm your best friend, and you trust me so well, it's natural to assume that you'd be comfortable telling me anything. Right?"  
  
Silence followed while Harry considered this. "Yes, it would be natural to assume that," he said, pulling himself out of her arms and stepping back, "but some things are best left unspoken of." He began to walk towards the stairs when Hermione reached out, grabbed his left wrist, and twisted it as hard as she could. Harry screamed in pain and yanked his arm away from her. "What the hell, Hermione?" he yelled, glaring at her with wild eyes.  
  
"What's going on up there?" called Ron from downstairs with a cautious undertone to his voice.  
  
"Nothing!" replied Hermione. Turning back to Harry, who was staring at her as if she had just killed a kitten, she asked, "How long ago did he break your wrist?"  
  
Harry seemed less reluctant to answer than before as he gently cradled his throbbing joint. "A few weeks ago."  
  
Now that Hermione had gotten him to open up a bit, she realized that she had no idea what to say. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault. You don't have to apologize," said Harry, careful not to make eye contact with her and standing at least three feet away.  
  
An awkward silence ensued. Hermione shifted her weight uneasily and dug her toes into the carpet, while Harry, still holding his limp wrist, leaned against the hallway wall and stared off into space. "Why didn't you tell anybody that your Uncle hurts you?"  
  
"Because it's embarrassing, and it's weird," said Harry, "I'm not about to go around the neighborhood screaming, 'CHILD ABUSE!'" Finally he directed his gaze towards his friend. "I mean seriously, Hermione, if you were in my situation, what would you do?"  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I...I...I know that wouldn't let it go on for that long, that's for sure. And I'd at least give myself a friend to confide in. Doesn't it bother you not to talk about it?"  
  
"It's rather the opposite," said Harry, eyes once again darkening, "It bothers me TO talk about it. Here, I'm going to get you your bag, and we can each go on with our own business." He strode rapidly into Ron's room, and quickly produced Hermione's black satchel. "Take it," said Harry, tossing it towards her. She caught it awkwardly and watched him in a state of light shock as he escaped down the stairs. 


	12. Jungle Ball!

"C'mon, Ron, it's your turn!" screamed Harry from across the meadow.  
  
"I'm thinking about my strategy, alright?" replied Ron with equal gusto.  
  
Harry and Ron were standing on either end of the meadow inside the small forest behind the Burrow, playing a game that they called "Jungle Ball". In the game, the first player starts off by dodging obstacles across the playing field. Once they've reached the halfway marker (in this case, a dead stump) the player crumples up a sheet of paper, lights it on fire and sprints across the field, trying to retain the flaming ball without getting burned. Not only that, but if a penalty occurs (such as dropping the paper or tripping) the player must restart his journey from the halfway marker, all the while holding the still burning paper. After about ten minutes of playing the game, Harry and Ron decided that it was far too easy and safe, and decided that the player must sing the Finnish national anthem during the entire ordeal, and if they mispronounce a word or forget a line, the other player is free to either tackle the first player or replace the first player's fire ball with a second one that was pre-doused with oil.  
  
"Come ON!" cried Harry, growing impatient.  
  
"Okay fine, I'm ready!" yelled Ron. He stood very still for several seconds, then bounced once on his heels like a gymnast and took off running. "Oi maamme, Suomi, synnyinmaa!" he sang as he began the obstacle course. "Soi sana kultainen!" Tossing himself through an old tire and skipping backwards past a curious chipmunk, he muttered, "Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa, ei vettä rantaa rakkaampaa kuin kotimaa tää pohjoinen-" he paused briefly for concentration as he back-flipped over a rotting gravestone, "Maa kallis isien," Finally he made it to dead stump. Crumpling up a sheet of paper as fast as he could, he tentatively lit it on fire with a sprinkling of mysterious yellow powder and dashed across the rest of the field, rattling off the second half of the anthem while keeping his mind on the quickly burning object in his freckled hands. "Sun kukoistukses kuorestaan, kerrankin puhkeaa; viel' lempemme saa nousemaan, sun toivos, riemus loistossaan, ja kerran laulus, synnyinmaa kor-" Suddenly Ron cut himself off; he forgot the last few words of the song! "What goes next?" he shrieked as the paper began to produce 5-inch high flames.  
  
"You forgot it! You forgot the ending!" screamed Harry with a bright grin, pointing at Ron like a child who caught his brother breaking a household rule. "I get to kill you now!" Harry sprinted towards Ron and threw all of his weight against him, knocking his friend to the ground and in effect setting his own shirt aflame. He cursed and tore his shirt off, standing up and stomping out the clothing viciously. "Okay," said Harry, standing topless over Ron and regarding the issue of the game as if it were important government business, "Since I tackled you, your turn is over. You get two points for making it across the obstacle course, but one point for only making it part of the way across the sprint. That makes your total sixteen."  
  
"Fine," said Ron, standing up next to Harry, "Get over there and start." He pointed towards the opposite end of the meadow, and Harry jogged enthusiastically towards it. "Ready?" he called, and received an affirmative answer. "Go!"  
  
Harry easily overcame the obstacle course, and because he secretly wrote several easily forgettable Finnish words on his arm, he was able to complete the sprint with no injury or mistake. He and Ron laughed and tumbled through seven more rounds of Jungle Ball as the sun rose higher and higher up the searing blue summer sky. By the time Mrs. Weasley had Ginny bring a picnic out to the boys, they were both breathless and dripping with sweat. Ginny was wearing a thin white sundress and a white visor as she carried a basket of food and a platter of drinks to the small table that Ron and Harry had set up in the middle of the meadow to hold the stack of paper and the yellow powder. "I'm so thirsty," she heard Harry say as a sweaty hand reached under her to grab a cup of lemonade from the table. Looking up towards the direction of the voice, Ginny almost choked on her gum to see him standing shirtless and sweaty under the midday sun in all his messy-haired, green-eyed, lean-muscled glory.  
  
"Thanks, Ginny," he said with a grateful smile as he quickly drained the glass of its contents. "What's in the basket?"  
  
"Erm...," she began, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but his developed abdomen, "There's...there's...some sandwiches...and fresh strawberries...and...erm...I...napkins."  
  
"What?" squawked Ron through his lemonade, "What are eye napkins? What are you talking about, Ginny?" He ruffled through the picnic basket until he produced a handful of plain, white napkins. "Why are these called eye napkins? What makes them different?" He pulled a single napkin out of the tumultuous pile in his other hand and started wiping his eyes with it. "Is this what I'm supposed to do?" Ginny sputtered and began giggling madly, and Harry, seeing her laugh, chuckled with her as Ron, growing more and more frustrated, commenced wiping his eyes more and more furiously. "What? Am I doing it wrong? WHAT?" asked Ron as he nearly rubbed his eyes right out of his skull.  
  
"No, Ron," gasped Harry through spasms of laughter, "They're not "eye napkins", they're just regular napkins." That was about all Harry could say before he rolled across the grass and burst into giggles once more.  
  
"You're so...stupid!" cried Ginny as she, also having had collapsed onto the grass, flopped her body on top of Harry's through the sheer force of her laughter.  
  
"What? Stupid!" yelled Ron, deeply offended, "I'll have you know, I'm the undisputed Gryffindor chess champion! My mind could take on your mind ANY DAY!"  
  
About fifty yards away, the back screen door banged shut and Hermione walked into the bright noonday sun, squinting as she slid on a pair of dark sunglasses. Ron had invited her to stay with them after she dropped off Harry's black bag, and, thinking to get to the bottom of Harry's situation, she consented. The more time she had to talk with Harry, the better. She hopped down the shallow steps and walked across the grass until she reached the small forest, where she stumbled her way through the tall trees and tangled underbrush until she came to the meadow where her friends were eating. She was surprised to see Harry without a shirt on, since he was usually rather conservative when it came to apparel. However, that small shock was nothing compared to the startle she received when she saw Ginny lying on top of him, giggling and blushing.  
  
"Hey...guys..." trailed Hermione. She glanced towards Ron and noticed his bloodshot eyes. "Ron, what happened to your eyes?" she asked, venturing towards him and peering closely into his irritated blue eyes.  
  
"Nothing," answered Ron curtly. "My sister was being stupid and mixed up her words." Ginny shot up from her warm spot next to Harry to protest, but Ron shoved her back onto the grass. She gasped, and her breathing quickened and grew increasingly shallow until finally she let out a teary-eyed whimper.  
  
"You made me fall on something sharp," whined Ginny, starting to cry. Ron rolled his eyes apathetically; Harry seemed to be the only person who actually cared about the youngest Weasley's well-being.  
  
"Are you alright? What did you fall on?" asked Harry, sitting up and gently lifting Ginny's back so that he could view the imposing object. "Oh no," he said, his bright face shifting into a dark expression of worry, "You REALLY fell on something sharp. Hermione, come here and look at this."  
  
Hermione walked over towards Harry and kneeled next to him. She withdrew disgustedly when she looked at the state of Ginny's back. "That doesn't look good."  
  
Ginny, whose curiosity had been growing this entire time, cried out in frustration. "What happened? What did I fall on?" She tried to twist and contort her body so that she could view her backside, but failed in her attempts. "Somebody tell me!"  
  
"Hold on, love," said Harry, his British upbringing exposing itself, "I'm just going to try and pry something out of your skin, then you can look at it all you want."  
  
"WHAT?" screeched Ginny, squeezing Harry's arm and staring at him, wide- eyed in anxiety. "What do you mean, 'pry something out of my skin'? What the HELL is down there, you'd better tell me!"  
  
Ron, whose prior aggression had slowly faded into guilt and fear, knelt in front of Ginny and looked across her towards Harry. "It's going to be nothing, mate, she's just overreacting," he said, hiding his brotherly compassion for Ginny in a façade of aloof indifference.  
  
Harry returned Ron's gaze. "Just don't hit girls, alright?" The recipient of this comment sputtered in offense and disbelief.  
  
"I DON'T hit girls, Harry."  
  
"You just pushed her, and you hurt her," responded Harry condescendingly. "I'm just saying that for future reference, that might not have been such a good idea."  
  
Ginny tried her best to mollify the growing tension between her brother and his best friend. She really didn't want to cause any strife between them. "It's okay Harry, I'm used to it. Now, let's just...pull this thing out of my back and finish our picnic."  
  
"Alright," said Hermione, rolling Ginny over onto her stomach so that she could have uninhibited access to the injured area, "This might hurt a bit, so I'll pull it out all in one go. One...," Ginny held her breath, "Two...," Harry felt her squeeze his hand, "Three!" At that point, Hermione yanked out a long, jagged piece of glass, and Ginny screamed like a wild animal. "Glass?" muttered Hermione, closely scanning the gleaming object, "What's something like this doing in the meadow?"  
  
Harry took the glass from his friend and inspected it himself. Hermione noticed his eyes darken once more as he held the jagged piece in his hands; suddenly he stood up and strode quickly into the forest. Ron watched him disappear into the trees, followed shortly after by a curious Hermione. He was left alone with his sister, who was sniffling pathetically and clutching a shaking hand to her slightly torn, slightly bloodstained dress. 


	13. Trees and Butts

Random spots of shimmering white light broke through the treetops in scattered beams that reached the forest floor. Bright flowers broke out in magnificent blooms whose fragrance rivaled the best perfume Calvin Klein had to offer, while cheerful birds hidden behind boughs of leaves whistled to nature's sweet tune. Smashing those beautiful flowers and cursing at those innocent birds was a very irritated teen girl who just wanted to find her friend.  
  
"God damn it!" she screamed, sick of searching for the lost boy. She growled something indiscriminate and violently kicked a squirrel.  
  
"You know, Hermione, if you don't believe in God then I don't think He'll damn anything for you."  
  
Startled, she scanned the surrounding wildlife for anything that could have produced those words. Finally her eyes landed on a lean figure that was perched on a thick branch about twenty feet in the air.  
  
"I could ask Him for you, if you want. But you've got to be more specific about what exactly you want Him to damn. I can't just be shooting general prayers left and right."  
  
"Harry," called Hermione from her distant spot on the ground, "Why did you leave like that?" She received no response, except for the fact that Harry hid his face in a pair of sharply bent knees. Mustering her courage, she awkwardly climbed the tree, dragging herself from branch to branch until she could pull herself up onto the thick, spacious limb that Harry was lithely comfortable on. "I don't care what anybody says; I am NOT cut out for sports," breathed Hermione, exhausted. She crawled hesitantly across the dangerous wood towards Harry, and sat facing him with her legs swung over the sides of the branch. He still would not lift his head. "Harry," coerced Hermione, "Look at me." When he would not face her, she lifted his chin forcefully so that his face was exposed. She blinked twice in quiet shock; although right now Harry was glaring at her reproachfully, there were moist tear marks tracking down his cheeks, the white sunlight glinting off of them like thin diamonds.  
  
"Don't be so alarmed," snapped Harry, "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to 'share my feelings' with you?" Hermione tried to interject a denial, but Harry continued quickly and cut her off. "That glass," he said, drowning out the tiny fragments of Hermione's protesting voice, "wasn't in the meadow before I got there." He paused for effect, and it worked; Hermione leaned forward in interest and silently urged him to continue. "I know you read my journal," he said, "and I know that you read about how my Uncle broke the hallway window. Today I'm wearing the same pants that I wore that day. The shard of glass must have hidden itself in a pocket of mine, and fallen out when I was playing Jungle Ball." Hermione screwed up her face in confusion and mouthed the strange words, "Jungle Ball" to herself while Harry continued talking. "I walked away back there because something hit me when I recognized the glass. I don't know what it was, but it kind of freaked me out so I left."  
  
"But," said Hermione, "Whatever it was must have really affected you, because...because I think you're crying, and that's really unusual for you."  
  
Harry didn't hesitate to answer. "What," he said, his voice suddenly choked with tears, "You think being hit, and yelled at, and hurt all of my life isn't going to affect me? You don't understand; you were raised with normal parents. I was raised with a group of people who hate me. I never had a kind word. I never had that kind of loving praise that a child is supposed to receive. And the worst part is that I thought I deserved that. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for somebody to be shoved against the wall and beat if he ever teased his cousin. I didn't know that it wasn't normal for a five-year old boy to live in a closet with curses screamed at him for absolutely no reason. Now here I am, at fifteen, and I'm completely fucked up because of my family. Not only that, but I've got some raving mad sorcerer after me because I lived after he killed my parents. Yeah, that's what I call a healthy childhood. No shit it affected me," he snapped, fresh tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "And I try not to show it, but you push and you prod and you dig around my personal property until you finally got me to crack. You've officially taken away my masculinity: you got me to cry. I guess you thought it would help or something if I 'talked about it'. Well, it didn't. The only thing that changed is that now I just feel like an idiot, sitting in a tree and crying like a child." He stopped talking at once and returned his face to its spot between his knees.  
  
After that moving speech, Hermione had absolutely no idea what to say. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as his back shook softly due to his weeping, and his hand tangled itself in his messy black hair.  
  
"I'm sorry," she ventured, not sure how to react to Harry's uncharacteristically vulnerable state. He did not move to respond; rather, he just kept crying, albeit softly. Hermione, not at all used to seeing her dear friend so miserable, felt tears well up in her eyes at the depressing sight in front of her. "Please, Harry, I had no idea you were going to react like this. I'm sorry for...for bringing you into that state." Once again, the recipient of this apology did not reply, but seemed to completely ignore her. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked desperately, not expecting a response.  
  
Harry, still leaning against the tree trunk with his knees folded into his chest and his head tucked in between them, shook his head no and hugged his knees tighter. "Haven't you done enough?" came his muffled reply.  
  
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione in shocked protest, "Don't try and pin this on me. It's your family's fault, not mine."  
  
He sighed shakily, and finally looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said sullenly, his anger diffused, "I didn't mean to blame you for anything. You've always helped me, and if anything, I should be thanking you." They stared quietly each other for several seconds, and Harry gently took Hermione's hand in his.  
  
"We've been through a lot together," whispered Hermione, not breaking eye contact.  
  
"Yeah," answered Harry, "You were my second friend. Ever." He lovingly stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. "Thanks."  
  
Just as Hermione was about to respond, a rustling in the forest below broke their sacred silence, and Ginny's dainty feminine voice rang through the air. "Hey guys? You out here somewhere?"  
  
Harry dropped Hermione's hand (much to her disappointment) and leaned over the branch to view the delicate redhead standing twenty feet below him. "Ginny! We're up here!" The girl whirled her attention upwards, and adjusted her visor so that she could properly escry the two teenagers perched within a staggeringly tall tree.  
  
"What're you doing up there?" she asked, wrinkling her nose to emphasize her question.  
  
"Nothing," answered Harry, and deftly swung off the branch, scaling his way down the tree until he landed with a crunch on the dry summer underbrush. Once he was level with Ginny, he placed a shy hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was alright after being pushed onto that broken glass. Hermione, still crouching uneasily on the branch, surveyed the two with distaste and felt her cheeks flush when she saw the way Harry was gazing at Ginny.  
  
"I'm so sorry that had to happen to you. Can I see your back?" he asked kindly. Ginny turned around to show Harry the bloodstained rip in her dress. He paled and swallowed; he hated being to blame for the adulteration of what was once so perfect and unharmed. "Ginny, you have no idea how sorry I am for hurting you," said Harry. Ginny cocked her head to the side in confusion.  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked, "Ron's the one who pushed me. And it isn't like it was your fault that the glass was there, right?" She laughed and shrugged at this speculation. "Yeah Harry, I can just picture you dancing around my backyard, throwing pointy glass everywhere and hoping I'd land on it."  
  
Harry laughed nervously; she was dangerously close to finding out that the glass's unfortunate location was, in fact, completely his fault. "Erm...yeah, ha ha, you're right, of course it's not my fault, how would that work?" he stammered, regretting how terrible he was at lying to friends- lying to professors came naturally to him, of course, but he always felt so guilty after being untruthful to somebody he cared about. Ginny, a very smart girl, immediately recognized the strange tone in Harry's voice and squinted at him suspiciously.  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him in this untrusting manner for almost a minute before she finally spoke. Harry, of course, was growing more and more nervous by the second. He was just about to break into a cold sweat before Ginny voiced her thoughts. "Right. Harry, why are you lying to me?" His mouth opened and closed silently, like a fish out of water, while his aggravatingly blank mind searched for suitable words. "What are you trying to say?" asked Ginny, now slightly suspecting this person of laying a trap for her.  
  
"Whatever Harry did, he didn't do it purposefully, I swear to you," said Hermione, who had obviously struggled down the tree while the two were talking and was now standing behind Harry with her hand on his shoulder. "Come on, I feel bad for leaving Ron back there all alone. Let's go."  
  
Ginny led the way back to the meadow, allowing Harry and Hermione to whisper quietly to each other several paces behind her.  
  
"Thanks for not telling," said Harry with a grateful smile as he carefully stepped over an unearthed root.  
  
Hermione shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't want me to say anything about what happened. Anyway, that's what friends are for: saving your butt."  
  
"Yes, he says thank you as well," said Harry, patting his rear, "You kept him nice and safe." Hermione giggled and pushed her friend lightly on the shoulder.  
  
"Knock it off, silly," she said, suddenly wincing at the onslaught of bright, unhindered sunlight as the three left the dark, cool shade of the forest and stepped into the flowered clearing where Ron lay half-asleep, basking in the sun. 


	14. What's This About Camping?

Ron rolled lazily across the grass, softly grunting when he collided with Harry's sleeping body. A cricket chirped nearby. The moon was almost full, and it was floating midway across the diamond-studded sky. All the redheaded young man could hear was the stirrings of nocturnal forest creatures and his friend's deep, relaxed breathing. All of the s'mores he'd eaten earlier filled his bloodstream with sugar, and now, aggravatingly restless, he was regretting how he'd urged his father to take he and his friends camping before they had to go back to school next week. Wishing he could fall asleep, he pulled his blankets tighter around his body and curled up snugly onto his side.  
It was no use. "Trying" to fall asleep works against its purpose, because the harder you try the less relaxed you are, and the less relaxed you are the less likely you are to drift into an unconscious state. Wholly frustrated, he growled and threw his blankets off, sitting up in a rapid, violent motion.  
'I wonder what time it is,' he thought, glancing about his surroundings in hopes of a clock of some sort. Unfortunately, he and Harry had opted to be "manly" and sleep outside in the wilderness rather than stay in the fully furnished tent, so unless the trees could tell time there was no hope of him finding any chronographs in the forest.  
'Wait a tick,' he mused, 'Doesn't Harry have one of those digital watches?' Ron looked down at the dozing wizard sprawled out next to him, lying on the bare grass without a blanket or pillow. The watch was on the wrist furthest away from him, which was probably about six feet from where Ron was sitting. Sucking in a quick breath of courage, he leaned as far as he could across Harry, reaching desperately for the small silver watch wrapped around his wrist. Just a bit further...two more inches...one more inch...almost-  
He could not reach any further without losing his balance, and collapsed heavily atop Harry's chest, his arm still just touching the wristwatch. Harry woke up with a start, and cried out when he saw a large male lying on top of him.  
"Eurrgh, get off! What are you DOING?" he yelled, shoving his friend off of him and sending him careening into the bushes.  
"I was just trying to see what time it was!" protested Ron, crawling out of the foliage and picking a stick out of his hair. "Gods, don't think I'm getting queerish on you or anything!"  
Harry, still staring wide-eyed at his bedmate, shook his head slowly. "That was just weird, Ron. I really don't like waking up to see you lying on top of me." He shuddered at the thought of that, and sat up, scratching the back of his neck and patting the grass surrounding his body in search of his glasses. Once he'd found them and placed them squarely on his nose, he read the time on his watch. "It's like two in the morning," he said with a sigh, "I'm never going to fall back asleep."  
"Sorry," sheepishly apologized Ron, sitting in front of the nearby bushes, hunched over his legs. "If it helps, I don't think I'm going to fall asleep anytime soon, either."  
The two sat there for several minutes, each engrossed in his own thoughts. Ron was calculating how many hours of rest he'd get depending on what time he might fall asleep, and Harry, being too tired to seriously consider the somber matters of school and the Dark Lord, was thinking about how he'd like to spend the next few peaceful days in nature should this year be his last. An owl hooted nearby, and the dense trees of the forest rustled in the early autumn breeze.  
"Are we going fishing tomorrow?" asked Harry, not looking up to face the recipient of this question, but rather staring off silently into space in anticipation of an answer.  
"I think so," answered Ron quietly, watching his own freckled toes twitch and wriggle. He batted a seemingly drunken beetle out of the air and stared at Harry, having nothing better to look at. "Mate...I'm so bored."  
"Me too," said Harry. "What do you want to do?"  
Ron paused to consider this question. "Are the girls still sleeping?"  
"Probably...why?"  
"Want to play a prank on them?"  
Harry's attention shot toward Ron, and he felt himself grow tense and lean forward in interest. "Like what?"  
Ron's rosy cheeks cracked into a crooked grin, and he shrugged. "Depends how how badly we want them to kill us when they wake up."  
The boys couldn't help but snicker devilishly, and huddled together to whisper a plan into formation.  
  
The next morning, Hermione slowly opened her eyes, deeply breathing in the fresh air of the forest. Reluctantly tearing herself away from the snug warmth of her blankets, she sat up and lazily stretched her arms. That was when she noticed that she was sitting in a very damp spot of the mattress. In fact, whatever had moistened the fitted sheet also must have soaked right through her nightgown and panties. Quickly she threw off her quilt and crawled onto the foot of the bed, peeling layers of wet blankets from the bed until she found the large yellow spot in the mattress. Painful realization that she had somehow peed in her sleep struck her like a city bus, and, rather humiliated, she carefully climbed off the bed and stood up, nauseous from the feeling of urine-drenched underwear clinging to her skin. She glanced across the room towards Ginny- fortunately, the redhead was still soundly asleep with her back towards her companion. So far, Hermione's crime had gone unnoticed. She threw the quilt back over the bed, temporarily concealing the evidence, and snuck towards the bathroom to shower and change clothes.  
Just then, Ginny let out a sigh and woke up. Not wanting to linger in bed (she was eager to spend the day with Harry), she sat up, placing her feet in pink fluffy bunny slippers and shuffling across the room towards her small vanity dresser. As per her usual morning schedule, she picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her hair two hundred times, afterwards reveling in its silky, shiny softness. Once that was completed, she shambled towards the bathroom and knocked on the door.  
"'Mione, can I come in?"  
"Sure!" replied a hollow-sounding voice, marred by the thunder of rushing water. Ginny opened the door and entered the bathroom, wiping a circle of steam off the mirror so that she could view her reflection. Suddenly she screamed in horror and drew back from the sink, backing against the wall and staring aghast at the frightened girl in the mirror.  
"What happened?" cried Hermione, turning off the shower and hurrying out from behind the curtain. Once she laid eyes on Ginny, she gasped and placed a hand to her mouth in shock. "What did you do to your HAIR?"  
"Nothing!" wailed Ginny, closely inspecting a lock of pink and white striped hair. "I didn't do anything to it, I swear, all I've done so far this morning is brush it." She stopped and returned Hermione's knowing gaze. "You think there was something in my hairbrush?"  
"Probably," answered Hermione, still standing completely naked and soaking wet in front of the shower. "Wait, let me see your hair again." Ginny bent over and let her cotton-candy-colored tresses hang in front of her friend. "Yeah, this is definitely some sort of Muggle hair-dye, nothing magical. Let's have a look at the brush then, yeah?" "Okay, let me get it," said Ginny, rushing out of the warm, steamy bathroom and returning seconds later with her black plastic brush. She handed it to the older girl, who closely examined each facet of the object.  
"Ooh," remarked Hermione, "I found the culprit." She then removed the bristle pad from the front of the brush, exposing two packets of dye- one white, one pink. "The pressure you put on the brush when you stroked it against your head must have squeezed the dye out of those two little packets and...well, made it soak into your hair." The two girls used this moment of silence to admire the Barbie-themed streaks in poor Ginny's pencil-straight locks.  
"Ron," growled the miserable victim.  
"What?"  
"RON. He did this. That little wanker, I'm going rip his bloody head off!"  
"Ginny! I've never heard you curse before..."  
"You haven't felt pain until you've felt the wrath of Virginia Weasley!" she yelled, feeling the old family rage seeping into her veins. "Mother FUCKER!" she screamed, kicking the wall and storming out of the room. Hermione didn't dare follow- she had more important matters, such as concealing her golden nighttime spill, to deal with.  
Harry and Ron, who had since fallen asleep, didn't notice a slender, candy-haired young girl storming out of the wizard tent and stalking across the grassy clearing towards them. Her brother received a rude awakening- that is, he was kicked in the head.  
"What the fuck is this, huh? Huh, RONALD? You think this is funny?" She continued kicking his blanket-rolled body for several minutes while he tried shrieking for Harry to wake up and help him. "Well, you know what I think is funny? Watching you scream in pain!" "Stop, leave me alone!" cried Ron, attempting to catch one of her furiously flailing legs and contain his sister's ferocity. "That was SO unprovoked, Ron! Now you feel MY pain! I was so proud of my beautiful red hair, and you RUINED it!" Finally she fell onto her knees besides her bruised, reclining older brother and began to strike him with her fists.  
At last Ron decided to fight back (trying to calm her down was futile), and stood up, using his full power to push his sister onto the grass. "Get AWAY from me, you psycho bitch!"  
Ginny sprung back up, lunging at him. Reacting on pure instincts, Ron threw a fist out, and his assailant tumbled onto the ground, utterly unconscious. He breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion, and turned around to notice Harry staring indignantly at him.  
"Ron! Did you just knock out your little sister?!" he exclaimed; the young man had woken up too late to see Ginny attacking Ron, so all he saw was the final blow.  
"You don't understand," said Ron, "She was going mad, I swear, she would've tore me limb from limb if I hadn't put her out."  
"Let me get this straight," began Harry, "You couldn't contain a petite little girl long enough for your dad or me to wake up, so you punched her in the face and now she's just lying there. Probably very, very injured, I might add."  
"No, Harry! You should've seen her going at me! C'mon, you know me- I would never, ever hit a girl if it wasn't out of necessity, especially my own flesh and blood. Nobody these days hits their own flesh and blood, except for those loonies you see in the news."  
Harry just stood there and shook his head, green eyes glittering in anger. "You're wrong. People DO hit their own flesh and blood, and you bloody better never hit somebody who can't defend themselves."  
Even an outsider would have noticed that the dark-haired boy was over- reacting, and that Ginny honestly needed to be tranquilized for the safety of the general public. Ron regarded Harry with a troubled expression, wondering what exactly was whirling through the young wizard's head.  
"Mate, it's alright, don't bug out on me," soothed Ron, attempting to mollify his seething friend, "I don't know if you've got personal issues or what, but just...calm down."  
Harry walked across the grass and kneeled next to Ginny, carefully lifting her head and checking for bruises or fractures. "I will not calm down. I will not justify what you just did." Ron ventured a hand towards his sister, but Harry slapped it. "Don't you dare touch her."  
"Hey, she's MY sister, I can do whatever I want," snapped Ron, reaching out again.  
  
He's MY nephew, I can do whatever I want!Please Uncle, I'm sorry!WHACK!  
  
A deeply repressed nerve in Harry's mind snapped, and he grabbed Ron's outstretched arm and twisted it until his friend screamed in agony and withdrew his limb. "Get the fuck away from her!" yelled Ginny's self- appointed protector, "I won't let anybody else go through what I did." At that, he gently placed his arms under her head and knees, lifted her into his arms, and carried her back towards the tent.  
Ron was left standing in the forest clearing, completely bewildered. Whatever mountains his father had taken them to would surely see loads of action over the next three days. 


	15. Soiled Sheets and KISSING

A/N: Okay, I know this was super delayed....but it wasn't my fault! Fanfiction.net has been acting real crazy for me over the past month or so...like, it would let me upload the chapter, but then suddenly it would completely disappear from the site. I'm really glad it finally worked this time, and don't worry about chapter 16, because I'm almost finished with that. Yay! Let's read chapter 15!  
  
Ginny struggled to open her unusually heavy eyelids, and noticed, as she awoke from her unnatural slumber, a cold, numb feeling on the left side of her face. She moaned a little as she came into a state of complete consciousness, and discerned a dark figure leaning against the wall next to her, indifferently reading a small novel. He made eye contact with her when he felt her stir against the ice pack he was holding to her bruised temple.  
"How are you feeling?" he asked, dropping the book on the bed and devoting his full attention to the slender girl lying prone next to him.  
"What'th with my fathe? It feelth all numb and cold- wait a minute, am I lithping? What did you put on my fathe?" She placed an anxious hand to her cheek and felt, under Harry's large warm hand, a small frozen package."  
"It's called an ice pack," he explained, "It helps numb things so you don't feel pain."  
"Oh," silently mouthed Ginny. After a few seconds of quiet, slightly awkward stillness, they both spoke at the same exact moment:  
"So are you-"  
"Why ith it that-"  
The two chuckled and urged the other to continue their sentences. Finally, Ginny was chosen to re-start the conversation.  
"Well...I wath jutht about to athk...Why ith it that you're caring about me all of a thudden?"  
Harry seemed rather taken aback by this question; after several moments of introspective thought, he answered, "Well...erm...I really don't know...why, was I ignoring you earlier or something?"  
"Actually," slurred Ginny, half of her face still feeling like a numb puffy marshmallow, "The patht few yearth I wath jutht Ron'th little thithter, y'know, like not much to really pay attention to...but during the patht few weekth of you thtaying with my family, you've really treated me like your friend and not jutht thome thtupid little girl."  
The bashful boy tilted his head a bit to the side and looked down at her from his sitting position. "Of course I've treated you like my friend, you ARE my friend!" Ginny giggled and blushed at this. "But anyway," continued Harry, growing more serious, "I didn't like the way Ron treated you just then. Does he hit you often?"  
Suddenly an excellent, however evil, idea raced into Ginny's head and began to bounce energetically off the sides of her skull. She could lie and say that Ron frequently abused her, which would not only drive him and Harry apart, making it more plausible that Harry wouldn't feel so bad about ditching Ron to date his sister, but it would also form a connection between her and her heart's desire; if Harry knew that somebody else was being beaten just like he was, he would defend them with all of his soul, not to mention confide in them. "I can't thay," lied Ginny, forcing crocodile tears up to her eyes as if it was paining her to think of the subject.  
Immediately Harry's interest was piqued, and his expression transformed into one of concern. "Oh, Ginny," he cooed, almost a whimper, "Please tell me you haven't been treated badly at home."  
Ginny rolled over so that she lay face down on the bed, and was actually able to force herself to sob. "I'm thorry," she wailed, "But I can't tell you that."  
"I simply can't believe it. I've known your family for years, and they haven't shown the smallest bit of anything but love and kindness. I mean, Ron was torn apart second year when we overheard that you were kidnapped by Vold- I mean, Tom Riddle. Are you sure? Are you really really not making this up?"  
A pinch of doubt sprinkled itself atop Ginny's master plan, and began to eat away at it. She started to feel somewhat guilty for making her family seem like bad people, when they were really the best relatives she could ever dream of. "It ithn't my family, perthay...it'th jutht that Ron'th been being really cruel and violent towardth me, and it hurtth, it really doeth." 'There,' thought Ginny, 'Tone down the severity of the lie just a bit so it sounds more believable.'  
"Ohh," sighed Harry, "Yeah, he's a bit of a violent bloke, I know that...he and Hermione throw books at each other and what-not, and he DID tear apart that little Krum figurine..." He looked back down at Ginny, who was still lying face-down on the bed, and stroked his hand up and down her back. "I'll talk to him for you."  
"Kay," pathetically agreed the aching victim.  
Harry's sympathy was touched, but seeing as he was never treated nicely enough to know how to express his softer side, he reverted back to a less emotional subject.  
"Hey, don't roll over like that 'cos I can't hold the ice pack to your head."  
Ginny didn't shift so that she faced Harry- rather, she placed her feet on the floor without looking up, stood quickly, and strode towards the door. Harry hastily scrambled off the bed and followed her, touching her arm so that she turned to make eye contact with him.  
"What's wrong?"  
She sighed angrily. "Nothing ever workth with you. Whatever, Harry. I give up!" she cried, throwing her arms in the air and storming down the hall. Completely oblivious to the point Ginny was trying to make, Harry hurried to catch up with her. Just as he was about to reach her, she quickly darted into a hallway washroom and slammed the door shut after herself. Her pursuer stood restlessly outside the locked facility, feeling rather confused and a bit guilty about whatever he'd done to her.  
"What do you mean, you give up?" he asked the white-painted wood.  
A hollow-sounding female voice responded from the interior of the small tiled area. "I mean- it'th jutht...you don't get it, do you?"  
Utterly bewildered, Harry furrowed his eyebrows and leaned against the doorframe. "What are you talking about?"  
Suddenly the door flew open, and Harry fell forward without the solid maple to support him, landing on a pair of warm, soft lips that tasted faintly of cherry lip balm. Ginny grabbed both sides of his head and pressed his mouth against hers in a sense of wild urgency, as if all her frustration over the years had been building to this pinnacle of self- expression. Finally she released her lips from his, breathing heavily into his mouth as she regained her composure.  
"Thorry," she said, letting go of him and stepping around his body so that she could leave the washroom, "That thimply had to be done." At that, she walked down the hall and turned a corner, disappearing from Harry's view.  
  
Hermione was steeping her soiled bedsheets in the bathtub when somebody sprinted into the room and locked the door shut. She whirled around to see Harry standing behind her, his chest heaving and his eyes as wide as dinner plates.  
"Guess what! Guess what JUST happened!" he whispered excitedly, kneeling next to her in front of the blanket-filled tub.  
"What?" she asked, momentarily forgetting about the incriminating evidence floating in front of her.  
He took a deep breath before answering. "Ginny kissed me."  
Hermione gasped exaggeratedly and nearly fell into the bathtub. "No way. You're not serious!" She mirrored his alarm and fervor as he began to recount to her what had just occurred.  
"Oh, I AM serious. Okay, we were in the room that Ron and I were supposed to sleep in last night, and she was still unconscious so I was holding an ice pack to her temple-"  
"What?" interrupted Hermione, absentmindedly placing a dripping wet, soapy hand on Harry's knee, "Why was she unconscious?"  
"Because- mate, your hand's wet and it's soaking through my pants."  
She removed the offending hand.  
"Because she freaked out when she discovered that Ron and I had sabotaged her hairbrush, so I guess she started hitting Ron and he punched her, which must've been hard enough on her temple to knock her out."  
"That doesn't sound like Ron at all," said Hermione, "He loves his sister."  
"I know...so many weird things have been happening this summer," agreed Harry, "But anyway, back to my story! Alright then, so I was sitting up and reading some random book I found in the tent's closet, and she was passed out lying next to me. Then she woke up, and we were talking and stuff, and she said something like, 'Dude Harry what's wrong with you,' and I was like 'Huh?', and she was all, 'Yeah,"  
"Wait-," interjected Hermione, "I think you've been away from school for too long. Start over, and try using a proper storytelling tone. I can't listen to you when your grammar is horrid."  
"Sorry," apologized Harry, "I've been watching too much American television. That's how they talk over there, you know."  
Hermione motioned for him to continue.  
"So she wakes up, and like I said, she was being rather cryptic with her responses. She kept saying things like, "I give up," and "You're hopeless."  
"That's not very nice," said Hermione.  
Harry nodded. "I know, not the usual shy polite little Ginny. So she gets up, and I follow her down the hall 'cos I'm just curious like that, but she goes into the W.C. and shuts the door. Then I asked her what she meant by those things she just said to me, and she just...she just opened the door and kissed me. Rather passionately too, I must say."  
His listener stilled seemed incredulous, and once the tale was told, she stared deeply into the dirty bathwater and considered her own thoughts and opinions about the subject.  
"Are you going to tell Ron, then?"  
Harry snorted while slowly shaking his head. "Right. He'd go barmy."  
"So...," started Hermione, narrowing her eyes, "What ARE you going to do about this?"  
"I suppose...I suppose I should have a little chat with Ginny. I'm really not sure, like I said, this happened just nearly two minutes ago. Maybe I'll call her over for a spot of tea or something later this afternoon."  
Hermione brushed the bubbles off of her hands, and leaned forward towards Harry, who was still kneeling next to her in front of the bathtub. "The real question is, did you enjoy the kiss?"  
Harry gazed at the tile floor for several agonizingly long seconds before he looked up at Hermione, blushed, and offered an answer. "Well...sort of." Seeing Hermione's jaw drop open, he quickly added, "You can't expect me not to! I'm a fifteen year old bloke; of course I'm going to enjoy a kiss from a pretty girl like her."  
"I know that you must have gotten some physical pleasure out of it," said Hermione, "Anybody would...what I really meant was: did you enjoy it in the sense that you care for her beyond the level of hormones, or are you still fancying Cho?"  
She was astonished when a smile broke apart Harry's sharp features, and he shrugged innocently. "Maybe I like her." Hermione paled. "You don't understand," cried Harry indignantly, "She's SO nice to me! She's got such a pleasant personality, and she's quite underrated by the both of you- meaning you and Ron."  
The two of them were silent for several seconds; Hermione was strangely pallid and subdued, while Harry waited intently for her opinion on the matter.  
"It could never happen without destroying Ron."  
"What?" asked Harry, flabbergasted by this strange response.  
"Do you have any idea what the repercussions on Ron's psyche would be? Come now, Harry, if your very best friend in the entire world starting owling your sister instead of you, and began to visit your sister and spend time with her, how would that make you feel? Simply horrid. You'd feel rejected and worthless, and would be incredibly jealous of all the attention your sibling was getting from somebody who used to be completely devoted to you."  
Harry dropped his gaze to the floor once more, and lost the color from his cheeks. "You're right," he whispered, "You're so incredibly right, as usual."  
"I'm sorry," said Hermione, noticing how much her speech had affected her friend.  
He was speechless for a few moments. "Why doesn't anything ever go my way, 'Mione? I mean really, the only thing that's brightened my day in the past eight months was that kiss from Ginny just now."  
Hermione scooted closer to Harry, and held both of his hands while gazing intently into his eyes. "You're a beautiful boy, Harry, there's no doubt that you'll attract other girls during your lifetime." He hung his head, not wanting to listen to what his friend was telling him. "Come now...you can't think of any girls that you might go for?"  
"I dunno," said Harry, "It's just that...I want somebody who I can be close with, you know? And not in a sleazy way; somebody who'll love me and take care of me."  
His female counterpart felt like she was about to melt. She had just achieved the dream of every woman on Earth- she had just cajoled a male into admitting that he wanted a meaningful relationship. She knew exactly what to do next.  
"Aw, I care about you," she said, squeezing the hands she was still holding onto and smiling bashfully.  
"Yes, but you only think of me as a friend," said Harry, still blushing over the fact that he was speaking so candidly about his emotions.  
"Are you sure?"  
Harry snapped to attention- he did not expect something like that to come out of Hermione's mouth. He stared at her, stunned, like a child that had just seen a rabbit pulled out of a magician's hat. "You...have feelings for me?"  
"Not only are you my best friend," said Hermione, "and a wonderful person, but you're a selfless hero who would give his last knut to a charity fund, and sacrifice himself for a stranger. How could I not develop some sort of admiration for you? Over the years, that admiration turned into, well, something akin to love. Sorry if I'm sounding like a book or something, but I don't think I can put it into plainer words."  
The object of her affection loosened his grip on her hands, and entwined his fingers with hers. "Once again, there is a major problem."  
"What?"  
"Ron would kill himself. Literally."  
"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, growing alarmed.  
"You mean you haven't noticed? He's completely smitten with you. That's why he caused such a row last year when he found out that you were going to Yule Ball with Krum. And anyway, if we started a relationship and began to leave him out of our excursions and conversations, he'd feel left out and unwanted."  
Hermione's heart sank. "Yeah, that's true...but could you just answer one question for me before we drop the subject?"  
"Sure," said Harry, smiling politely.  
"If..." For once, the great scholarly Hermione was utterly lost for words. "If Ron wasn't an issue, would you...would you have considered dating me?"  
Harry grinned, and kissed her on the nose. "Yes."  
His friend involuntarily giggled, but soon recognized her error and tried in vain to disguise it as a cough. "Okay," she said, still stifling a smile, "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you."  
"Anytime," responded Harry with a laugh. That's when he noticed what was in the bathtub: billowing piles of bed sheets. His mind flashed back to the night before, when he and Ron had placed her hand in a bowl of warm water, hoping that she would pee in her bed. 'Poor Hermione, she must be humiliated,' he thought. 'Oh well, she'll never know it was us.' He was just glad that it was only Ron who set up the prank on Ginny- he could never forgive himself if he knew that he was indirectly responsible for her eventual punch-in-the-face. Promising himself not to bring up the question of why Hermione was washing her blankets, he stood up and feigned an excuse to leave.  
"I should go talk to Ginny, then," he said, unlocking the door. "I'm so glad we had this little discussion."  
"Me too," agreed Hermione, looking up at him from her position on the floor. "Good luck."  
"Thanks," he said, leaving the bathroom. He gently closed the door behind himself, and hoped to God that he would be able to find Ginny before her Dad could notice her bruised temple and black eye.  
  
A/N - I just want to thank "Vanyaria Darkshadow" (sp?) for leaving me so many awesome reviews...I mean seriously she leaves a comment for every single chapter, and that's just cool. It makes me want to continue the story. Thank you! 


	16. Dead Fish

(A/N): Uhh...is there something wrong with my quotation marls? It looked really weird when I uploaded it. Hopefully that's just a temporary thing. Hopefully.....  
  
"Ron, I'm not sure this water's very safe to swim in," said Harry uneasily, standing apprehensively at the pond's edge and gazing distastefully into the tea-colored liquid. "I think I see leeches."  
He, Ron, and Mr. Weasley were taking a break from finding firewood, and had wandered off into the forest in search of some refreshment from the scorching hot noonday sun. The pond they had discovered was surely a sight of natural beauty- a gentle waterfall trickled onto smooth rocks at the far side of the pool, and willow trees overhung the east side. Turtles sat stupidly on a lazily floating rotten log, and Ron was splashing around in the shallow end.  
"Oh, don't be selfish," said Ron, spitting out a fountain of water, "Leeches need to eat, too." He lifted his arm out of the pond, and observed three dark shapes hanging off it. "I'm naming this one Roger."  
Harry looked on in shock and disgust. "I don't see how you can be so deathly terrified of spiders, who can't even hurt you, but can stand there and give names to those little bloodsucking slugs." He found a small boulder at the water's edge, and sat upon it. "I'd rather not sacrifice myself for their comfort."  
Mr. Weasley came tromping down the nearby hill, hands full of small brown eggs. "Look what I found!" he cried, jogging towards where Harry sat and showing him the discovery. "I've got a great spell to fry these with."  
"Cool," said Harry, gently picking an egg out of Arthur's hands and holding it up to the sun. However, no light shone through a certain bird- shaped spot in the middle. "Oh no, we can't eat these," he said, giving the egg back to Mr. Weasley, "There are baby birds growing inside of them."  
Arthur shrugged. "We can still fish then, eh?" He looked towards Ron, who was spooking the poor turtles, causing them to slip off of their log. "Oy! See any trout in there?"  
Ron paddled back towards the shallow part of the pond so that he could see through the water to the murky, brown bottom. "Erm...there are loads of little buggie things...and what looks like a miniature lobster, might be a crayfish...oh, there are nasty little olive-green plants down here too. I don't see any big fish."  
"Quite a shame," said his father, still holding the precious eggs. "You mind eating bird fetuses?"  
"Can't say, I've never tried those," answered Ron. He looked up towards Harry, who was observing the two from his position on the sun- warmed rock. "Harry! You ever eat a bird fetus?"  
Harry gaped, his green eyes wide in contempt. "Of course not! Wait a minute- are you seriously considering frying those baby birds?"  
"Well I don't know," answered Mr. Weasley, turning the eggs about in his hands as he thought, "I didn't pack much food, I suppose I was so preoccupied with the prospect of camping that I overloaded the tent with kayaks instead of hotdogs."  
"Maybe the girls can cook something for us," offered Ron, violently shaking the water out of his hair and causing it to stick up in the air like thousands of little red spikes.  
"With what?" asked Harry, "We're the men, we've got to provide for them. Maybe there are fish in other ponds, or that big lake down by the cliffs."  
"I say we mount an expedition!" announced Mr. Weasley, puffing up his chest. "And we don't return until we've got enough food to last us for the next three days!"  
Ron scrambled out of the pond, standing proudly next to his father. "Yeah! What d'you say, Harry?"  
"I say that you're positively covered in leeches."  
Indeed, there were at least twenty of the little fellows stuck to his legs alone. Ron winced as he picked each of them off, leaving himself covered in tiny red circles where the creatures had stuck themselves to him.  
Arthur watched silently as his son painfully wrenched the small vampires off of his dripping wet body. "Well that's a bit of a bad omen to start our expedition with."  
"You think we'll find anything?" asked Harry, "You know, after that bad omen with Ron..."  
"Of course!" cried Mr. Weasley. "We're bound to find something or another in this forest, eh? Now as for it being edible, I'm not quite sure."  
The youngest Weasley present had finished drying himself off, and was now pulling his shirt on. He once again shook his head so that his damp hair stuck out savagely. "Isn't there some charm or spell you could use to locate the edible stuff for us?"  
"Probably," answered his father, shrugging. "But even if I knew it perfectly, I wouldn't use it."  
The boys stared at him in alarm.  
"And why not?"  
"Yeah, I'm hunnnnnngry!"  
"Because that's not the Muggle way," responded Mr. Weasley, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "AND-" he added, noting the stricken looks on the teen's faces, "I agreed to take you camping in the mountains ONLY if we could do a few things the way Muggles do them. That's how I got off work for these few days; I told them I was doing research on non-magical survival techniques."  
Harry seemed strangely pacified by those last few words. "Oh, alright! So you've read some books on how to hunt and start fires, right? So we won't die out here, RIGHT?"  
Arthur glanced around nervously. "Erm...no, I didn't quite have the chance to read anything..."  
"Oh GOD," cried Ron, holding his face in his hands and slowly shaking his head back and forth. "Dad's gone starkers and he won't use magic to feed us."  
"We'll still eat!" quickly amended Mr. Weasley, "Listen, if we don't find anything, I'll whip something up with a nice spell, alright?"  
"But you don't know the cooking spells," argued Ron, "MUM knows the cooking spells."  
"You know what? That doesn't matter, because we're going to kill plenty of fish and rabbits, and pick loads of berries, and I won't even need to use magic in the first place."  
  
***  
  
Back at camp, Hermione was lying in the warm, luxurious sunlight of the mountain clearing and writing a Charms essay. She was working on the conclusion when footsteps grew progressively louder behind her, and stopped at her feet. Fighting the urge to turn around because she knew exactly who it was, she pretended to concentrate very hard on writing the letter "t".  
"Hey Hermione," said a light female voice.  
The now slightly perturbed writer placed her quill into her ink bottle, and rolled over onto her back to face Ginny, who was looking less than happy in a pink pleated skirt that matched the new shade of her hair.  
"Do you know where the men are?" she asked, pulling at her skirt and brushing a white streaked lock of hair behind her ear.  
"Well, they left for firewood about...seven hours ago," answered Hermione, shading her eyes against the afternoon glare. "So no, I guess I don't know where they are."  
Uncomfortable silence followed. Ginny pulled at her skirt again.  
"Are you mad at me or something?"  
Hermione shook her head. "No. Why would I be mad at you?  
"I dunno," said Ginny, shrugging. "It just seems like you've been avoiding me all day." When the older girl didn't answer immediately, Ginny added, "...Have you?"  
Once again, Hermione paused before responding. "So I hear you kissed Harry."  
Ginny jumped, and appeared slightly ruffled. "Erm...right. Right, I did."  
"Why?"  
"Because..." Suddenly she gained a bit of indignant courage. "Because I wanted to! I'm not a little girl anymore, I have sexual urges just like the rest of you."  
The expression on Hermione's face remained solid and composed. "You want to have sex with Harry?  
Ginny made sort of a squawking noise, and leapt backwards. "I- I- NO! That's not what I meant! Well, I guess I wouldn't turn him down if he offered...but I wasn't thinking that at all!"  
Hermione shrugged. "Suit yourself."  
"Why are you being so hostile?" asked Ginny, "You're acting like Malfoy right now, honestly, what's your problem today?"  
"I don't know," said Hermione, sighing deeply and losing the hardened expression on her face, "It's like...I don't know how to put this in other terms, but right now I just resent you."  
"For what?" curiously inquired Ginny.  
"Because that was MY kiss!" cried Hermione, letting her feelings pour out. "I wanted to kiss Harry, I wanted to give him that dramatic passionate kiss, but NO, you do it before I can! Sure, maybe you're less shy about that sort of stuff, but...oh Ginny, I'm so jealous."  
Ginny clasped her hands to her chest. "No, I'M sorry; I should have told you about it beforehand. It's all my fault!"  
"No, it's my fault!" cried Hermione.  
"I'm so sorry!"  
"No, I should be the sorry one! I was so mean to you!"  
They embraced each other tightly. "I'm so glad we're women and not idiot men," said Ginny, pulling out of the hug.  
"Yeah, we have enough sense to apologize when we go too far," added Hermione.  
The girls sat facing each other on the rough country grass, their legs crossed and their hands clasped in their laps. They chattered for a while about school, friends, handsome young men, and Italian food. The sun was beginning to set, and twenty toenails had been painted sparkly lavender, when the duo realized that their male counterparts had been missing for nearly ten hours.  
Ginny pictured the worst: her father wounded, and her brother being mauled by a bear, as Harry tried to intercept the beast's blows.  
Hermione pictured the most rational situation: Mr. Weasley was looking dumbfounded as he tried to read his upside-down map, Ron was throwing rocks into the shadowy darkness of the twilight forest, and Harry was trying to find the direction to the tent by licking his finger and holding it up to the wind.  
The reality was that all of the men were really quite unharmed, and knew their way back to camp. The reason that they hadn't returned yet was because they were having little luck at finding food. When fishing ended up yielding only several sickly trout, and only one rabbit had been stabbed to death by Mr. Weasley's magically sharpened wand tip, Harry had resorted to picking roots and berries while the two redheads leapt about the trees like savages in their quest for sustenance.  
"Listen mates," said Harry, exhausted from a day in the wild, "We really should go home, the girls have been alone for near ten hours and they're probably thinking we're dead."  
Ron turned around from his perch in a tree branch, holding a mesh bag of deceased fish that were starting to stink. "You know what? You're absolutely right. But my dad won't go back until we've filled our quota of dead creatures."  
"Well," sighed Harry, "I don't think we're going to catch anything in this darkness. I can barely see you in that birch up there, I don't know how three clumsy blokes are gonna successfully kill those agile little nocturnal creatures." Ron nodded and peered into the shadows, trying to escry his father's lean figure.  
"Dad!" he called, "Dad! Where ARE you?"  
"Right here!" responded a far-off male voice. "I think I spot something!"  
The boys paused, trying to hear the details of Mr. Weasley's hunt. Something crashed through the underbrush, a man yowled, and then another crashing noise before complete silence.  
"Let's just go!" cried Ron in the direction of the activity.  
"Wait! Wait I think I've got a chance with this one!" responded Arthur's disembodied voice.  
Ron sighed and leaned his tousled red hair against the tree trunk, gazing pathetically at Harry. "I want to go home," he half-whimpered, half- snapped. "I'm tired, I'm starving, and I'm sick of the forest. And- and LOOK at this, I'm carry a bag of smelly dead fish. I'm sitting in a bloody tree right in the middle of the bloody fecking night, carrying- of all things, of ALL things Harry, a bag of dead fish. Can it get ANY worse?"  
A pause. An owl hooted, and pine trees bristled in the evening breeze.  
"You know," said Harry, holding up the bottom hem of his shirt so that it held at least two pounds of roots and berries, "Now that you asked that, you KNOW it's going to get worse somehow. You just screwed yourself, mate."  
"I miss the girls," remarked Ron thoughfully.  
"Me too," agreed Harry.  
  
***  
Meanwhile, the girls were not idle in the tent. Ginny had revealed the crystal ball that Ron really hated to Hermione, who was now eyeing it with interest as she sat on the counter, picking at her fingernails.  
"I think we should use that thing," she said, staring at it intensely.  
Ginny stood up from the couch and walked over to the counter, picking up the orb and setting it in her lap as she sat at a barstool.  
"Who d'you want to look at?" she asked.  
"Harry and Ron, of course," replied Hermione, "I'm really anxious to know why they aren't home yet.  
The young redhead concentrated deeply upon the ball, and boldy stated her brother's name.  
It was deep blue twilight. A lanky, freckled young man was sitting in a tree, lazily swinging back and forth a mesh bag. A slender boy with almandine-shaped green eyes and pale skin was leaning against the tree which already contained his friend, and was staring at some mysterious item that was sitting in his upturned shirt. The adult was nowhere to be found, and his son spat upon the ground. A nightingale flew past the scene, and the dark-haired teen briefly closed his eyes.  
"I wonder what they're doing right now," said the boy reclined upon the tree branch.  
"Hermione is probably reading or writing or doing some other boring thing," answered the second person, "and Ginny is...Ginny is...well I don't think I know her well enough to judge what she'd be doing. Maybe trying to get those ridiculous stripes out of her hair."  
"Not to sound loony or anything," slowly began the firey-haired young man, "But those colors look a bit cool. I mean, it's like...like some trendy new fashion you'd see in Teen Witch magazine.  
The other boy was quiet for several moments before responding. "That was weird, Ron. I think you need to eat something, or rest a little. Tell your dad we're heading back, he can meet us back at the tent later."  
The father was informed, and the two males left their positions against the birch and began trekking home through the brambles and creeks. They hopped over ditches and kicked flowers, all the while the taller boy swung his mesh bag and the shorter boy stared sleepily at the ground. At one point the mesh bag charged off course, and smacked the green-eyed boy in the face. The victim of the attack yelled angrily and wiped his cheek disgustedly while the antagonist tried hard not to laugh.  
Just as Ginny lost her concentration and the image faded into mist, male voices stomped and clattered through the tent's entrance. Minutes later, a dirt-stained Harry trudged into the kitchen, pulled a bowl from the cupboard and dumped the contents of his shirt into it. Ron followed shortly afterwards, and tossed the mesh bag into the sink. The girls watched silently as their friends walked right past them down the hallway without saying a word of greeting or how they spent the last ten hours.  
"Well that was strange," said Ginny, watching her brother disappear into a hallway bathroom.  
"They didn't even acknowledge us," added Hermione, seeing Harry leave his bedroom and enter a different bathroom.  
"Think we should do something about that?" asked Ginny.  
"Give them ten minutes to get all clean and ready for bed. Then we'll talk," answered Hermione, grabbing the crystal ball from its position on the counter and staring interestedly into it. Her female friend shrugged and picked a berry out of the bowl that Harry had recently filled. 


End file.
